Dick Gumshoe: Ace Detective
by SPG inc
Summary: An exasperated Miles Edgeworth asks just how Gumshoe ever became a detective, and Gumshoe is only too happy to tell the story of the case to uncover a treacherous police conspiracy that made him the man he is today.
1. Chapter 1

_**I've had this idea for a while now, and I finally decided to write it. It's basically a retold episode of an old TV programme called 'Randall and Hopkirk (deceased)' about a pair of private eyes. One or two implied pairings, but nothing solid.**_

Dick Gumshoe: Ace Detective

Turnabout prologue

Miles Edgeworth was in a contemptible and bitter mood. Of course, he seemed that way most of the time, being a prosecutor with a fearsome reputation and a sharp face that always seemed to be either smirking or sneering, but his current temperament was more genuine this time. That tended to be the case when one was in hospital.

It had been his damn fear of earthquakes that had done it. He should never have come back from studying law abroad. About two days ago an earth tremor had struck just as Miles Edgeworth reached the top of an escalator. Naturally, fate decided that he should faint as he was occasionally prone to doing when caught in an earthquake, and he'd toppled backwards down the metal steps. Telling him he was lucky not to have been killed hadn't cheered him up in the slightest. He'd broken a leg, dislocated his arm, cracked his skull (which of course meant he had to have his head shaved before it could be operated on) and lost one of his front teeth. He was scheduled to remain in hospital for more than two weeks. He couldn't read anything to pass the time because he had double vision as a result of the accident, and he wasn't going to turn on the radio. If he heard 'Ocean Drive' one more time he swore he'd kill somebody. He'd already reduced a nurse to tears over that.

To sum it up, Miles was bored. Worse than bored, he was lonely, though he hated to admit it. Anyone who had cause to visit him was always too busy with their work, and he wasn't in a ward with anyone else, but in a private room (Miles Edgeworth naturally went private).

As if in answer to his dark thoughts, someone knocked gently on the door of his white walled prison.

"Come," he called like an impatient school principal. The door creaked open, and a frightened looking nurse poked her head round the door. He glared solidly at her, wondering if she'd come to change the flowers.

"Excuse me sir," she mumbled just below a volume that was comfortable to hear at. "You have some visitors."

Miles Edgeworth raised a well-trimmed eyebrow at the nurse. That elevated eyebrow had thrown doubt into the hearts of some of the most steadfast solicitors in the world; it was quite unfair to bring it to bear on an innocent bystander, but Miles found it hard to imagine who would have come to visit him.

"And these supposed visitors are…?" he asked.

"Hey! Enough with the boring intros. We're his friends!" a familiar voice said from somewhere behind the door. Miles' narrowed eyes widened a fraction. Surely it couldn't be-

That's when Maya Fey bounded into the room, looking little different from the last time he'd seen her, her long raven black hair pulled up in a topknot, white and purple kimono draped around her with an elegance her personality lacked, and her open face and wide eyes shining as always with hyperactive enthusiasm at the slightest of stimuli (God help the man destined to be her husband).

A second person entered the room, with far slower and deliberate steps, an aloof little smile on his face. Phoenix Wright- Nick to everyone who knew him. Miles felt a slight discomfort come over him, and not from being caught in his maroon pyjamas by Maya ("Hey! Are all your clothes the same colour?").

The last Miles had heard of Nick, he'd had his attorney's badge taken away from him for presenting false evidence during a trial. Nick had clearly fallen on some hard times, his sky blue suit replaced with a grey hoodie and some old black jeans. Still, it was good to see him again after he seemingly cast himself into exile and vanished for so long.

"Long time no see, Miles," he said calmly. "Heard you took quite a tumble."

"You heard correctly," Miles replied in a bone dry tone. Nick grunted a laugh and moved to stand next to his old friend, towing Maya away from a photo of Vincent Van Gogh's 'Sunflowers' that had been mounted on the wall in a cheap frame like a painting ("That's a lousy painting! You should have seen the one Larry did!").

"We got you a present," the tall and lanky ex-attorney gestured to his far shorter female companion.

"Huh? Oh yeah! Sorry about what happened to you Mister Edgeworth," Maya quickly rummaged through a large paper bag that had been swinging like a pendulum from her arm. She pulled out a much smaller paper bag, from which in turn she produced a clear plastic bag full of grapes. She handed them over, beaming all the while.

"Ah grapes," Edgeworth's demeanour brightened instantly. "Thank you Ms Fey."

The hospitalised attorney plucked one bright green fruits from the bag and popped it in his mouth. On the first bite his eyes widened and his expresion soured.

"Well," Maya rested her head on her hand and looked up thoughtfully "I couldn't actually find any grapes, so I decided to do the next best thing and shaved gooseberries."

Edgeworth desperately choked the hald eaten gooseberry out, at the same time trying to growl furiously at spirit medium. Apparently oblivious to all this, Maya continued smiling.

"You're lucky. If I hadn't come to town to buy and new pair of nail scissors as well those things would still be all furry," she said. "But don't worry; no need to thank me Mister Edgeworth. I'm just glad I had something to bring you, since _some_ people didn't bother," Maya rounded on Nick. "Mister Edgeworth's probably really miserable because he got no other presents and you could have made the difference. Don't you know what it's like to be ill? There was one time when I was six and this girl called-"

"Actually, he has got something else," Nick pointed out, plucking another piece of fruit from the bedside table.

An apple. A single red apple, with a small note attached with a piece of string. Maya stared dumbly at the orb for a moment.

"Well that's a horrible present. Who got you that Mr Edgeworth?"

"My 'side kick'. Who'd you think?"

Conversation went on from there, all of it pretty pointless and Miles doing his best to stay out of most of it, though engaging Nick on a few points was far preferable to responding to Maya questioning him about if he'd seen the latest episodes of 'Steel Samurai', because he simply had _no_ interest in that kids cartoon whatsoever (though he made a mental note of the recent episode he'd missed).

Despite the absurdity of some of the subjects that began to crop, Edgeworth was secretly pleased to see his sort-of friends again. He regarded the pair with searching eyes. Apart from the fact that they were both wearing sandals (Why!) they were so remarkably different. Wright was a tall man, not tanned but with a skin tone darker than the average caucasian, his madly spiky hair revealed now that he'd taken off that absurd woolly hat. Fey was short and slight, skin the colour of pasteurised milk, and covered liberally with accessories such as her necklace mounted magatama and leather bracelet. Combine that with their opposing personalities, and they were the paragon of opposites attract; not that he was certain that those two were an item no matter how hard he applied his mind to the question. But there had to be something between them. No man would run across a burning rope bridge hanging precariously over a canyon just to rescue a casual acquaintance. It was sorely tempting to say something blunt about their relationship to see how they'd react, but Miles Edgeworth had an image to uphold, so he suppressed any desire to joke with them.

They talked a little more on various topics, the easy interaction between Nick and Maya and Edgeworth's occasional comments not stopping until there was a knock at the door about five or ten minutes later.

Without waiting for an invitation, the door swung open, and a burly figure whose height put even Nick's to shame stepped in. A rough looking, black haired man had entered, a look of bewilderment on his stubbly face. Even with double vision, Miles couldn't mistake that gormless look and trademark moss green trench coat.

'_Oh no- not him again,'_ Miles thought in regard to the only man who'd visited him before now; his annoyingly inept partner and the bearer of the gifted apple.

"Hey pal!" Detective Dick Gumshoe's foghorn voice bellowed. "Good to see you again! You feelin' okay?"

"All the better for seeing you," droned the hospitalised attorney.

'_Like gum on my shoe- can't get rid of him.'_

"Oh, hi Detective Dick," Maya clapped her hands in front of her chest and bowed her head sharply in the traditional welcome of her people. "Thanks again for giving us a lift here."

Miles frowned. "You brought them here, Gumshoe?"

"Yeah, pal. Nicky boy still hasn't learnt to drive, so I got them here to see you!"

"Then where have you been for the last ten minutes?"

Gumshoe started at the question, then shrugged and said "I was just parkin' the car after I dropped these guys off at the door."

Before anyone could say anything, Maya seemed to suddenly realise something.

"Oh, wait a moment," she exclaimed in surprise, before throwing out her arm dramatically, pointing a powerfully accusing finger at the Detective and screaming at the top of her lungs.

"HOLD IT!"

"Yikes! Jeez, what's wrong pal!" Gumshoe staggered back a step from Maya's defence attorney act.

"The car park was right next to the entrance. When we got out of your car there were lots of spaces in that car park. You said you'd be right behind us, yet you arrive ten minutes later," Maya reasoned, before flourishing her arm again and shouting "HOW DO YOU ACCOUNT FOR THE LOST TIME, DETECTIVE!"

"Gimme a break, pal. We're not in court now."

In response, Maya brought down a fist heavily and screamed "OBJECTION!" in a disturbingly accurate impersonation of Nick.

Miles howled as Maya's truth seeking fist came into contact with the cast of his broken leg.

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A few nurses and painkillers later, plus an apology delivered from Maya smiling one her cutest head-turned-side-on smiles ever, Nick posed the question to Gumshoe again.

"So, why were you so long getting here Gumshoe?"

"Uh, well," the detective bowed his head in embarrassment, wondering if there was any point trying to conceal the truth from the magatama wielding duo, before he gave in.

"I got lost on the way here."

"Got lost!" Edgeworth spat, scratching at the bandage round his head. "You were only here a few days ago."

"All the corridors look the same to me; I went to the wrong place. I had to use all my deductive abilities just to get back to the way in."

"Where did you go?" Nick asked.

Gumshoe shrugged and said "Not sure, but I knew it wasn't Mister Edgeworth's room because someone was talkin' about pregnancy."

Maya snorted loudly, while Nick turned his face away and chuckled gently. Gumshoe was a second away from retaliating, before Miles beat him to it.

"That wasn't very good detective work, detective. Why shouldn't Nick and Maya be discussing their plans for the future?"

Maya let a small shriek of surprise, while Nick's head snapped towards his friend so fast that there was a cracking noise, shortly followed by a look of pain washing over his face. Gumshoe nearly laughed at the sight, till he remembered he'd been criticised as well.

"Tell me Gumshoe, how did you ever get promoted to detective?" asked Miles. "Was it like, 'collect five pot noodle tokens and become a detective'?"

"Hey!" the police officer growled in defence. "Don't say that, pal! I had to work hard to get where I am!"

"No offence Detective Gumshoe, but you don't seem like you're very good at your job," Maya hesitantly pointed out, before looking thoughtful.

"I wonder what I'd be like if I were a detective. I bet the paper work would be twice as boring, but I'd be great in a high speed chase. I heard on TV once that if you don't know about driving its better because you act on instinct and don't misinterpret signals. I've never tried driving though," she eyed the detective suddenly, and beamed a great smile. "Hey, Mister Dick sir. Do you think-"

"You're not touchin' my car!" Gumshoe stated firmly, then quickly changed the subject as Maya pouted and visibly began building a retort.

"Alright, so I'm not the best of detectives, but I've proved I'm practically indispensible to law enforcement in this town."

"Really?" asked Edgeworth. "And how did you accomplish this… miracle?"

"How, you say? Didn't you know that I was the one behind the Moonwalker case thirteen years ago?"

Gumshoe's gusto remained intact, despite the lack of acknowledgement to the secret he'd just revealed.

"The what case?" someone eventually said.

"Oh yeah. You wouldn't know about that would you?" Gumshoe grinned sheepishly. "Well, I don't suppose it would matter if I told you guys. You wanna hear about it?"

"No, not really," Miles drawled tiredly, the morphine he'd been given taking affect.

"Why was it called the Moonwalker case?" asked Maya. The dreamy look on her face made it clear what she was thinking. Gumshoe quickly corrected her before she suggested something insane.

"I didn't travel into space or nuthin'," Maya's face fell as Gumshoe spoke "but I had a run in with spies sent by the mob."

"Spies!" Maya brightened up immediately. "You mean like 'James Bond' spies? Did you have to fight them? Was there a conspiracy? Or aliens? Come on Gumshoe, you've got to tell us now!"

Dick Gumshoe grinned as Maya raised her fists and puffed up her cheeks in her usual way when she was really determined about something.

"You really wanna hear about it? Well that's just fine with me, pals!" Gumshoe rubbed his hands together in glee. He took off his large coat and hung it on the hook on the back of the door, before grabbing a nearby chair and turning it so he could sit backwards on it.

"Okay, get ready." he said in his most ominous voice. "This story is top secret. It's a story of adventure, mystery, and some seriously mega fisticuffs."

"Well come on then; tell us!" Maya was practically jumping up and down at this point.

"Okay, so it was like this…"

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_I got talking to this old timer in a bar. He was a little cagey at first, but after a few shots of JD (me paying of course) he was singing like a bird._

_It all seemed like just talk at the time, but little did I know that at that moment the weed of crime was tightening its grip upon the city._

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"Oh, wait a second pal," Gumshoe's enthusiasm dissolved. "That's the movie I was watchin' last night."

"Wake me up when he's finished," groaned Edgeworth.


	2. Chapter 2

Police blues

Los Angeles police department- the heart of law enforcement in that proud city of California. Inside the LAPD headquarters an army of officers worked tirelessly, in offices, in labs, and in the archives in the basement.

On the second floor of the building in office B-5, one particular officer was neglecting his paperwork for a moment. He was watching the door to the office. A man he didn't recognise was walking in, so he noted the details of this stranger in his head, just in case it turned out to be useful. The officer gaged his height by comparing him to the tack stuck in the door frame, estimated his weight, noted his buzz cut brown hair and determined that the way his arms moved as he walked indicated he had a weapon holstered under his arm. Office B-5 was one of the uniform officer's offices, so the black suit indicated that the stranger was of a higher rank and from another department, proved when he stormed straight into the private office of the division chief without knocking.

Police officer Dick Gumshoe smiled as the stranger disappeared from sight. Pretty good piece of deduction there.

The Dick Gumshoe of thirteen years ago was a far cry from the run down detective he was destined to be. His strong face was clean shaven and lacking the creases that came with age and stress. In his uniform he looked nearly presentable, aside from his hair which remained scruffy at the fringe no matter what he did with it. His shoulders were still rounded, as they had been for as long as he could remember, but his imposing height and thick muscles easily made up for that. He always made time to go to the gym and work out at least once a week. It was always important to be able to rely on his fists if he got into a tight spot. Despite having been trained to use the standard issue berretta, Gumshoe hated guns. He'd inherited his dislike for firearms from the two most important mentors in his life.

The first had naturally been his old man. Gumshoe's father had worked on the quays down at the docks all his life, and he'd had his share of the ugly side of life. Gumshoe could still remember his voice as clearly as if he were still alive, growling about the scum one would meet when out late at night.

"A real man don't pull stuff like that, Dick," he'd said one night after he'd been forced to fight off a mugger on the way home. "A real man don't steal. He works hard to earn his keep, and don't complain, even if he don't make enough. If someone comes at yer, yer gotta stand up for yerself. And not with a gun or knife or the other stuff those animals use. A real man gives 'em a taste of the ol' one-two; give 'em the good 'iding they deserve. That's what a real man does, Dick. And I'll see you grow to be a real man if it kills me!"

Yeah, his dad was the greatest. Ironic that he was shot just a week later by another mugger. They never caught the guy, but Gumshoe had followed his dad's words and never carried a weapon unless on duty when he had no choice.

The second great mentor in his life was- Gumshoe smiled fondly at the memory.

As a kid, every Saturday morning, little Dick Gumshoe would see him. Hank Bosh: Special Police Agent. His favourite TV show _ever_! Sure, it was done in the same cheesy style as that ancient Batman series with words like 'POW!' and 'ZAP!' interjecting in superimposed banners whenever there was any fighting, but he'd loved every minute of it. It was from that show he'd had the inspiration to try building his own bug detector, and to this day he valued the things he'd learned from that TV show more than anything he'd learnt at policing school, including Hank's steadfast refusal to use guns, but instead rely on his 'mighty fists of justice'!

Thinking about his childhood pastime, Gumshoe absentmindedly checked over the concealed items that he'd seen Hank Bosh employ to solve his cases and get the jump on the bad guys- a cassette recorder concealed in pot of plastic flowers on his desk, a razor blade hidden in his watch (the watch didn't work but it could come in handy), and the tiny mirror glued to the corner of his radio and his cell phone. The policeman pulled out his radio to check the mirror hadn't come loose. If he had a quarter for every time he'd seen Hank Bosh spot someone sneaking up on him in his little mirror, Gumshoe was sure he'd be able to retire at thirty. Gumshoe stuck to the lessons he'd learnt from that show religiously. No sir, no one was going to take this officer by surprise.

"GUMSHOE!"

The man jumped sharply, shoving his radio back before he could be reprimanded for defacing it. He recognised the gruff, huffing voice only too well. He turned to face Sergeant Bones, a ruddy faced woman who looked like she was two meals away from becoming a sumo wrestler and one cigar away from suffering a heart attack. Even if he wasn't now turned to look at her, Gumshoe would have recognised his direct superior by the stale nicotine smell. One needn't be a detective to know when Bones was about.

'_Then why didn't _you_ notice her, Einstein?'_ an accusing part of Gumshoe's brain demanded.

"Slacking off again, Gumshoe?" Bones rasped, lengths of lanky blond hair swinging as she gestured frantically, like clock pendulums ticking towards the point where she ruptured a blood vessel.

"No ma'am. Just… er… thinkin' to myself."

"I might die of old age if I have to wait for you to think, Gumshoe," said the unhealthy Sergeant as she stalked back and forth in front of the man. "You've always slacked Gumshoe. One day I'm going to run you out of here for good. You didn't even reach your quota for arrests this month, did you?"

"Actually, I got that arrest last night if you remember-"

"One in your favour, Gumshoe. One doesn't cut much ice with me, especially when you manage to bag a known safecracker like Locksmith but only have enough evidence for possession of."

Bones leaned in, perhaps trying to use her aroma to come in for the kill. Gumshoe fought with every fibre of his will not to openly gag.

"You know Gumshoe, since the Counter Terrorism Unit was accused of acts of corruption, the higher ups have been putting pressure on the likes of me to root out weak links and crooked cops in our ranks, and everyone is expected to show some results. I don't like you, Gumshoe. I'm watching you like a hawk, and if you make one wrong move I'll run you out of here on the grounds that I'm on a drive to drop the incompetent officers in my unit. _Get your act together, Gumshoe!_"

With that, Bones lumbered away and waddled back to her office. Gumshoe stared ahead blankly for a moment, wondering what form his reaction should take. A tumour of disappointment and lethargy began festering in his gut. Bones always made him feel like that. So did most of the officers in his department. Despite all his enthusiasm, Gumshoe was not a model cop. He tried, really he did, but he just couldn't triumph in the way he knew he was capable of. He thought back to something his dad had said about failure.

"Don't take any flak from yer boss over anythin'. It's all 'all power corrupts' an' all that crap. Yer do it for yerself, an' if the boss don't let you alone, yer tell 'em where to get off."

Well, that may have been okay for dad, but dad had done the same job he'd had since he was nineteen; shifting heavy loads for a pittance of a wage. When he'd been buried, one of his arms was two inches longer than the other, and his savings were barely enough to pay the rent for a month. His old man's advice wouldn't help him now. Gumshoe usually regarded his father with more respect, but at that moment he really didn't care.

He turned to look back at his desk, but found that suddenly he couldn't stand the sight of his work load.

"Maybe an early lunch will do me some good," he said miserably to himself.

Gumshoe got up and left his desk, blocking out the snigger of the cop sitting to his left. Unknown to him, a figure was taking an interest in the heavily built policeman from where he was talking in a low voice at the other end of the room.

"The guy is perfect. He's the one we need," he spoke quietly into his cell phone.

"**We don't want outsiders involved in something like this," **droned a voice out of the ear piece.

"We don't have a choice. If we don't get that information it's all over. He fits the bill."

"**And just how do we convince him to help?"**

"That's my area, remember? Just make the arrangements you need to pull this off. Leave the rest to me."

"**Fine, but you better be right about this."**

He hung up without replying. The black-suited stranger who'd recently been to the division chief's office put his phone away and went after Gumshoe.

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Gumshoe looked again at the coins in his hand, then said again to the guy in front of him "Come on, pal. Gimme a break."

"Can it already, boy! You ain't got the cash, you get nuddin'. Now beat it, you're startin' a line."

Gumshoe groaned at the thought of another pot noodle for lunch. God knows he _hated_ pot noodles, and yet he found himself using them to replace whole meals more and more often. Where did all his money go?

Still, he wasn't about to give up. The prices in the canteen were so high he ought to be allowed to arrest that smart mouthed punk for some sort of trading standards violation.

"Trouble, Gumshoe?" a smooth voice enquired.

Gumshoe turned, and was taken aback to see the stranger he'd observed earlier marching into Bones' office with purpose. The blacked suited man's head came up to Gumshoe's own height, but this man was slim and square shoulder, with a triangular shaped jaw and dark searching eyes. Age was difficult to judge, but he looked fairly middle aged. Gumshoe was certain he'd never seen the man before in his life.

"Sir?" whoever the stranger was, the canteen man seemed to recognise him, and automatically offered considerably more respect than he'd shown so far.

"Don't keep this officer waiting, will you?" the stranger casually handed over a crinkly green note. "We've got some business to discuss; when you're ready, Gumshoe." he added to the surprised officer.

The stranger then turned away and swept over to a table that gave everyone else in the room a wide berth.

Gumshoe's confusion only lasted a second. Suddenly he realised that his lunch was being paid for. Another lesson his dad taught him- never turn down the opportunity for free food. Aware that the chance of a decent meal had finally come, Gumshoe's stomach grumbled with primal hunger. The officer decided he'd worry about the stranger's identity after he had his lunch. He darted back down the line, ploughing someone over as he went, and grabbed a huge plate of lasagne for himself.

Once free of the scowling guy at the counter, Gumshoe approached the unknown man, who was smiling pleasantly, though he wasn't looking at anyone but at his hands, as though deep in thought.

Misgivings about the stranger suddenly came back; questions like who was he and what did he want nearly forced their way out of his mouth before he could think, but he restrained himself. Gumshoe looked around, but there was no one he knew having their lunch at the time, plus he had some change from the meal he'd bought which he had to give back to the stranger.

Seeing no reasonable excuse as to why he shouldn't sit with the stranger, he moved over to the table.

"Thanks for the lunch, pal," he said uncertainly as he hovered next to the chair, still unsure if he should sit with this unusual person he didn't know. "I've got your change here, if you just gimme a mo-"

"Don't worry about that Gumshoe. Just take a seat and have your food; take your time."

Not wanting to appear rude, Gumshoe sat down quickly. He was unsure what to make of the easy friendliness the man displayed but wasn't sure how to go about addressing the problem. He looked at the stranger, but again he was looking at his hands with the appearance of a man oblivious to the rest of the world, yet with an air of someone waiting expectantly. Gumshoe wondered if this was some sort of interrogation tactic used to get people to talk, because right now the silence was incredibly uncomfortable.

To give himself some more confidence, Gumshoe tried to imagine what Hank Bosh would do in a situation like this. Gumshoe's imagination conjured up the appropriate scene; Sauvé and level headed Hank Bosh sitting at a table in a bar, face to face with a shady character, not a twinge of doubt or fear crossing his face. The imagined bar was strangely similar to the police canteen, except that a murky fog of tobacco smoke hung in the air and the place was full of tough looking fellas with fedoras and violin cases. If Hank Bosh was in a situation like that, he'd stay cool and say something witty to encourage his opponent to introduce themselves, and then maybe offer them a drink as if they were old friends, all the time watching for some trace of deceit. Gumshoe could do that; he just knew he could pull it off. Following Bosh's example, he would discover the identity of this unknown person and what he wanted, all the while clearly keeping control of the conversation.

Gumshoe clapped his palms down on the table firmly, not making a move to eat, staring hard at the other man. The stranger took notice of the gesture and lifted his head to meet the young officer's gaze. Gumshoe nearly cried out in triumph; he was already halfway there. He'd make Hank Bosh proud today.

With a slight pause that he felt would add some appropriate drama to the situation, Gumshoe finally made his move.

"Actually, who are you, pal?"

'_Well, it was to the point,'_ he thought to himself, disappointed that he hadn't come up with something a bit more intelligent. The stranger betrayed no hint of surprise or offence, just nodded in an understanding fashion with that smile that was starting to look more like a smirk the longer he wore it.

"I'm not surprised; not many officers get the chance to come across the likes of me. I expect that less than half the people in this room know who I am, and where possible I'd like to keep it that way."

The stranger discreetly flashed an ID badge and returned it to his inside pocket in a single swift movement. Gumshoe didn't even have the time to see the name or rank, but the design made it clear enough that the man sitting in front of him was important, and the relaxed way he showed his identity card indicated that his was an authority he expected to be recognised.

"Okay then, pal," Gumshoe said, before adding "I mean… sir. Actually, I still didn't get the name."

The stranger didn't seem at all annoyed over Gumshoe's supposed lack of observance. If anything, his smile became a little wider.

"Sorry officer. A proper introduction then," he stretched out a hand. "Thomas Heller, Deputy Chief of Police."

Gumshoe shook the now named stranger's hand, dull brain cells taking time to comprehend what had just been said. Suddenly understanding the magnitude of the revelation, Gumshoe leapt to his feet, gasping out words of apology and banging his knee on the table.

"Sir… boss- I mean sir! I'm sorry. I-" Gumshoe fell back into his seat clutching his knee "didn't realise it was you. I mean I've never seen your face before pal- I mean sir! I don't… er…. think. No, what I mean is I know about you and everythin', but- actually, that's not right either…" Gumshoe's voice proceeded to trail off at that point

Deputy Chief of police Heller took the opportunity to lean forward and say "I was hoping to keep a low profile, officer."

"Oh, sorry pa-" Gumshoe quickly correct himself "boss- erm, sir."

Another, far more uncomfortable silence took over- at least it was for Gumshoe. Thomas Heller didn't seem in the least bit uncomfortable.

"So," Gumshoe said at length. "Why did you want to speak with me, sir?"

Heller's smile changed suddenly into a solemn frown.

"What I'm about to tell you is highly confidential; no one is to know about this conversation, understand?"

Gumshoe's face went blank, bemused by the experience. In his head, a thousand voices were chatting away, each one with a different opinion. Ignoring the voices, he hunched himself down closer to the other officer and whispered "Okay the. So what is it?" unaware of the highly conspicuous display he'd turned himself into as a result.

"Sit up straight, Gumshoe. No one will overhear us," Heller stated calmly. "I need your help in a matter regarding a major investigation into organised crime."

"Yes sir?" Gumshoe was already hanging on his every word.

"The police have a number of undercover operatives working for the large criminal syndicates in the city; the information they can provide is vital for any attempt to charge high profile syndicate members with an offense. However, it seems that a ring of spies working for one of criminal families has penetrated the police command structure. I've recently had word that one of my subordinates has acquired the information on all of our operative's identities and is making arrangements to sell them to these spies."

Gumshoe sneered in disgust, revolted that someone could have risen to so high a rank in the police force, only to sell their principles and fellow officers for a profit.

"Man, what a scumbag!" Gumshoe barely resisted shouting, then quickly became calm again and asked "So, you gonna arrest him?"

"No."

"Er…?"

"The man responsible for this received these important details through legitimate means, as part of another case. Being in possession of the information is not enough to accuse him with, and if we make a move the spy ring will go to ground. Our major crimes division is working to try and locate and bring these spies in. If we get hold of them it'll go a long way towards cleaning up the corruption in the police. You've heard about the recent accusations made against the CTU, I take it?"

"Yeah I have. But, if you don't stop him, what about that information he has?"

"That's where you come in Gumshoe."

Gumshoe blinked in incomprehension. Heller continued.

"The information is in a file that this traitor has in a safe at his home address. We need you to break in and steal the file. When he finds out its gone, he'll think the spy ring has cheated him. In the meantime I'll make sure that he can't get his hands on the details again."

"B- but, you want me to- break into someone's house sir!" Gumshoe stuttered slightly as he tried and failed to get his head round the task presented to him. "I… I can't do that sir. I mean, I don't even know how-"

"That's part of the reason why you were chosen, Gumshoe," the Deputy Chief interrupted. "To get past the sort of security that'll be in place requires a skilled safecracker and alarm tripper. I understand you recently arrested one Ethan Smith, aka Locksmith, correct?"

"Yeah, that's right sir," Gumshoe became enthusiastic again. "Busted him good; and just in time for-"

"Yet there's only enough evidence to charge him for possession of stolen property. Not very satisfying for a criminal of that calibre. He can be put to far better use, don't you think?"

Gumshoe stared blankly at the other man.

"It's perfectly simple, officer. Persuade Locksmith to get those documents, in return for 'misplacing' the evidence against him."

Surely the Deputy Chief of Police wasn't suggesting what he was thinking, was he?

"You want me to… let him go, sir?"

"This is for the greater good, Gumshoe. We need that information out of that man's hands. You don't need to worry about your arrests quota, I'll deal with that. But if you care about this city, about this country… if you are a true patriot, Gumshoe, then you'll do this. What do you say?"

Gumshoe took a moment to think it over. Thinking was never his strong point but he tried anyway.

The thought of letting someone like Locksmith get away with a crime and losing a successful arrest from his record was a bitter feeling, like drinking an extremely strong cup of ink-black coffee. But at the same time, the thought of carrying out an important task like that, serving the city, being selected for a vital mission- it made Gumshoe's chest swell with pride. This was exactly what he joined the police for. How could he turn it down?

For a moment Gumshoe imagine what his father would say.

"A real man don't let scum like that get away with it, Dick. Yer can't let a petty thief get away with stealin'."

Then he imagined what Hank Bosh would say.

"Let a safe cracker go free, and the payoff is to strike a blow at the mob? Do you really need to ask if I'm in?"

Gumshoe grinned a feral grin to himself, steadying his resolve.

"Alright sir. I'll do it."

"Excellent!" the Deputy Chief beamed. "You've already done you country proud."

He pulled an open envelope from his inside pocket and handed it to the officer. Gumshoe looked over it quickly, noting that there was no address in the little plastic window; presumably the first page of the letter had been removed. There was an unusual emblem on the right side of the envelope. It appeared to be a disc of the night sky with white pinprick dots for stars. In the centre of the image was a figure in a space suit, wearing cowboy boots with spurs. Gumshoe decided not to comment on it. He opened the envelope and pulled out the first bit of paper he came to, which was a small scrap that had been torn from a larger sheet. On it, an address had been hastily scribbled.

"That's the address of my traitorous subordinate," Heller explained "and the second paper will tell you exactly what it is you're looking for. Burn these instructions when you're done"

Heller got up.

"We need it done tonight, Gumshoe. I'll meet you outside your flat at half one in the morning to get the file. For now- well, I'll leave you to enjoy your lunch."

With a smile and a quick nod, he began to leave, but Gumshoe stopped him.

"Just one thing sir." he said "Why did you come to me when you could've just hired any thief off the street for this?"

"Breaking into the home of a high ranking police officer is no small thing," he said with a small, pitying laugh. "You're the only officer I could find who was in a position to force a professional safecracker to do this job and who could be trusted to make sure that files get to me."

Gumshoe felt another rush of pride go through him, before he stopped the Deputy Chief of Police again.

"And why did you choose me? Aren't there like, officers trained for this sort of thing?"

"Yes, but there may be other spies in the high ranks. We can't risk a leak. Not only that, but if something went wrong and the ones doing the break in where caught, we wouldn't want them to be anyone who might be suspected of working for us. If you get caught, it'll just be believed that you were genuinely committing an act of theft, not working in the interests of the police. Good luck Gumshoe."

With that, the high ranking officer left the canteen along with the frozen in thought Dick Gumshoe, whose sense of pride was deflating as rapidly as a punctured balloon.


	3. Chapter 3

In the name of the law

At the stroke of midnight Gumshoe was sitting in his grubby blue ford escort, now wearing a black hoodie and jeans, outside of the suspect address with the infamous Ethan 'Locksmith' Smith.

Smith was a slimy looking character, forehead crumpled with wrinkles of concentration, an absurd blot of greasy hair looking like a mop head had been dropped onto his scalp and stuck fast. He barely came up to Gumshoe's chest in height.

He was only in his twenties, pretty young to be as skilled as he was- Locksmith was one of the best in his trade.

"This whole thing stinks," he complained in his nasal voice.

"Look, pal- this is important. This is like a national security thing, so stop complainin' and make sure you're ready."

"I've been ready for the past half hour. Those old fogeys must have gone to bed by now. If we're going to do this let's just get in there and _do it_."

"We gotta make sure. I know about this sort of thing; I'm a cop, remember?" Gumshoe stated, then quickly added before Locksmith could make another snide remark about how desperate for cash he must be "A cop knows what he has to do and how to do it. That makes me the brains of the operation, which makes you-"

"Oh, you're the brains are you? So that's why you had this stupid thing running," he whacked the video camera that had been sellotaped to the dashboard. "Yeah, perfect. Record ourselves breaking into someone's house. Why the hell do you have this anyway?"

Gumshoe didn't answer, unable to deny how stupid he felt over the camera issue. The camera had been another Hank Bosh idea. His car had been broken into four times before it occurred to him not to leave the camera in the car when he wasn't using it. Since he'd been planning to meet a known criminal like Locksmith, he thought it might be prudent to record the night's activity. But as Locksmith pointed out, recording yourself while committing a criminal offense was not a particularly good idea.

Gumshoe changed the subject by saying "The place has been dark for a while now. Let's go."

"Finally, get this stupid job over and done with."

They left the car are made their way swiftly to the house. At Locksmith's instruction, they headed to a window which they'd observed as being a study.

"No problem getting this window open. Hold this for me." Smith handed Gumshoe a dim torch. The police man held it close to the frame of the window where the criminal was working, but the shorter man turned to him first.

"Look away while I do this. I promised the guy who taught me this I wouldn't show it to anyone else."

Gumshoe frowned.

"Honour amongst thieves, eh?"

"No, he was a cop."

The window was opened and the alarm bypassed in less than five minutes. With some difficulty, Gumshoe hauled his wide frame through the opening after Locksmith. As he got to his feet, the lights in the study were switched on.

"What are you doing!" hissed Gumshoe as Locksmith casually snuck over to a single painting hanging on the wall. "Put the light out! We don't want people to notice us in here you know!"

"Yeah, because two guys creeping around with a torch won't cause suspicion, will it?" Locksmith retorted as he pulled the painting away to reveal a safe and got to work, all the while muttering something about "Bloody amateurs."

Gumshoe huffed as the crook went about his work. He surveyed the room, noticing that it wasn't overly lavish but more expensive that then average home. The house was built in a pretty rich area of the city, which meant they probably cracked down on crime hard. Gumshoe shivered with nervous apprehension.

"Get over here and hold this, would you?" Locksmith said. Gumshoe turned to face him as the man gestured to a suitcase he'd brought with him.

"I need to keep watch."

"You don't need to watch. The only thing we need to worry about is if they have a dog, so hurry up and help me."

The police officer glowered at Ethan Smith. He was really getting fed up of the felon's attitude. Could he help it if he was a defender of the law and not a skilled house breaker? Nevertheless, Gumshoe complied and lifted the case off the floor so the safe cracker could start connecting a small device in the case to the wire for the safe's burglar alarm.

After several painfully long minutes that took all of Gumshoe's patience not to constantly ask how much longer it would be, Locksmith sliced his way through the security of the safe and revealed its contents to the world.

"Interesting stuff" Smith said as he riffled through the safe. Gumshoe shoved him aside and carried out his own search. There were plenty of envelopes and folders and black and white photographs, but the one he was looking for was exactly as Thomas Heller's instructions described. Gumshoe pulled out the dark brown, A-5 sized envelope, with 'Top Secret' and 'Confidential' stamped on it an excessive number of times. Gumshoe took it over to the desk and opened its contents. Again, as described in the instructions, there were list of people's names, their aliases, the underworld families they worked for and their designated drop points. To be doubly sure he had the right stuff, Gumshoe pulled out the letter with the picture of Neil Armstrong in cowboy boots and checked the details. He compared the two known agents that had been mentioned in the instructions with the documents from the safe, and after validating the details he knew he had the right stuff.

"Whoa!" Locksmith's voice made Gumshoe nearly jump in the air; he'd forgotten about his accomplice.

"What is it, pal?"

The professional criminal looked over, apparently having forgotten about Gumshoe as well. For a moment he looked like he was going to try and conceal whatever it was he'd found, before he relented.

"Looks like our man upstairs has been splashing out on his wife," he explained as he presented a box that had been lying in the safe. On the lid was stencilled in silver italics 'To my wonderful wife on our silver anniversary'.

Locksmith opened the box and something sparkling dazzled both men's eyes. Inside, lying on a purple velvet cushion, was the most gorgeous looking silver necklace, with a diamond the size of a postage stamp set in a skilfully worked oval ornament that hung from the widest edge of the necklace's apex.

The last thing Gumshoe could ever be accused of was being greedy, but even he found himself licking his lips at the sight of the priceless accessory before he remembered himself.

"Put it back; we're not going to steal."

"Oh yeah", Smith raised a cocky eyebrow "and what exactly are you going to do with that letter then?"

"Put it back, pal!" Gumshoe demanded. The owner of the necklace probably deserved to have it stolen; probably bought it with the blood money he'd sold the lives of good men and woman for. But Gumshoe knew exactly what his dad would say to something like that. Besides, the idea of stealing an anniversary present left a queasy feeling in his stomach.

Gumshoe was pleased to see the little man back down in the face of his fierce insistence. What he didn't see, however, was Locksmith putting the necklace in his coat pocket as he turned to put the box back in the safe.

"Alright, close the safe and let's go," at Gumshoe's command, they cleared up the changes they'd made to the setting as best they could and left the house via the window. In no time at all they were back in the car, Gumshoe driving as fast as the speed limit would allow.

They drove for about fifteen minutes before Locksmith asked to stop.

"I know this area well enough. I'll make my own way home from here."

"Find then," Gumshoe pulled over. "Just don't get up to any of your tricks on the way, pal."

"Don't worry about that. Nothing I want to steal anyway."

Gumshoe looked at Locksmith, narrowing his eyes at that clever tone. Had he taken that necklace after all?

He opened his mouth to utter an accusation, but Locksmith was already out of the car.

"Don't let anyone about that camera," the man gave a snide laugh. "Might look bad if it turns out a cop turned criminal videoed himself preparing to bust into someone's house and it showed up in court.

Then, with more unpleasant chuckling and random cheap shots, Locksmith wandered off into the night. Gumshoe stayed put for a moment, grumbling to himself, before he switched his video camera back on as defiantly as possible and started the car.

Gumshoe made it back to his block of apartments at twenty past one in the morning; the night was still solid black, and the street lamps cast a sickly yellow glow over the neighbourhood. Despite being earlier than the arranged time, the Deputy Chief of Police was already waiting for him in a car parked on the side of the road. Gumshoe pulled up in front of the far more expensive automobile as Thomas Heller climbed out and approached with an eager expression on his face.

"Did you get it?" Heller asked the moment Gumshoe had wound down the window to greet him. With a confident smile, Gumshoe handed over the envelope he'd stolen. Heller quickly took it and went through the papers inside, while Gumshoe waited expectantly.

"This is what we need," Heller said at length. "Thank you, officer. You'll be remembered for this, I guarantee."

Gumshoe gave a modest reply about how he was only doing his duty, but the Deputy Chief cut him off.

"You remembered to burn that letter I gave you, yes?" he said sharply.

With a slight hesitation, Gumshoe nodded with certainty, but on the inside he was cringed, the un-burnt letter in his pocket growing heavy with guilt. He'd completely forgotten to carry out that instruction. The truth was he'd been planning to keep it as a souvenir of his adventure. After all, it was the first time he'd ever felt so important and responsible; his moment to strike a blow for justice. He couldn't just throw away a memory like. Deep down, however, he knew that he had to do as his superior told him; he didn't want to screw up his one glorious moment by finding out days later that someone had found the details of his 'mission briefing'.

Gumshoe went to say something else to Heller, but he was already heading back to his car. The man climbed in the vehicle and quickly drove away, ignoring the wave from the slightly crestfallen officer.

Gumshoe sighed. He supposed someone like the Deputy Chief of Police couldn't afford to be outside on missions for long; it was quite an honour that he'd come to get the documents personally.

The young police man left his car, taking his video camera with him as he went, and headed to his apartment. By the time he'd entered his abode, he realised just how tired he was. Now that the night's excitement was winding down, fatigue was taking its toll. With a mighty yawn, he stripped off his clothes and left them where they fell as he made his way to bed. He pulled his pyjamas on and collapsed on the mattress as soon as he found it, dragging the sheets over him blindly. As he settled down, and arm fell over his chest.

"Your secret work go well, Gummy-bear?" asked sweet-voiced Connie, Gumshoe's girlfriend.

"Tell ya all about it tomorrow, sweetie," he replied.

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Early morning the next day, Dick Gumshoe and Connie Cook were wolfing down breakfast as they always did, getting dangerously close to leaving late for work… _again_.

"- and I swear, I could just smell this huge guard dog right outside the door. So I had to watch out for that, an' I was still watching Locksmith because I was sure he was gonna knock me out or somethin'."

"I get it Gummy- you're my hero," Connie beamed a great smile, the slightest hint of buck teeth protruding from her wide lips. Connie worked in the police archives at the precinct. She and Gumshoe had been together for a few years now.

Gumshoe took an admiring glance at his girlfriend as she opened the paper. She sort of put him in mind of a cute fluffy animal, with her tiny size, ocean blue doe eyes and playful mannerisms. Even her snow white hair that came down to just above her neck seemed like soft fur (she'd dyed it that colour as a show of devotion to some obscure anime). What really attracted him to the girl was her enthusiasm. Whatever she took an interest in, she poured herself into it with earnest dedication and didn't end any task till she'd completed it to the best of her ability. Her seemingly perpetual sense of duty was both an inspiration and encouragement to Gumshoe; he'd never been good at putting his mind to anything.

"We better get goin', you know. Bones ain't gonna go easy on me if I'm late again," Gumshoe rose from his seat and shrugged on his battered leather jacket, savouring the loose feeling of his casual clothes before he got to work and had to change into his restricting uniform.

Not hearing an acknowledgement to what he'd said, the police man looked over at Connie to see if she'd heard. If before she'd put him in mind of a fluffy rabbit, now she reminded him of a goldfish- her eyes had bugged out of her head, and her mouth had dropped open in a big 'O' of surprise.

"What's up?" he asked, confused by the sight.

"What's up! Just look at this!"

Gumshoe quickly found his face full of newspaper. Fighting his way free, he struggled to make Connie stand back as she excitedly tried to force the paper closer in an attempt to emphasise what she'd seen. Eventually he got it at a comfortable distance and managed to read the title of a two page article.

'VITAL POLICE DOCUMENTS MISSING FROM HOME OF DEPUTY CHIEF- LOST OR STOLEN? INCOMPETANCE OR CORRUPTION?'

Gumshoe's heart stopped and contracted in his chest- he didn't feel the pain. It was as though an icicle had been plunged into his stomach, and the numbing cold of it had paralysed every nerve in his body while the words in the tabloid circled around his head. He fell back to his seat, missed the seat and hit the floor, the paper scattering at his feet.

"It's talking about you, isn't it," Connie whispered fearfully, now a deer caught in headlights. She sank to her knees and joined Gumshoe on the floor. "I thought you were doing something to help the police."

"I was," Gumshoe breathed as he tried to get his head round it. "Well, it was _meant_ to look like a robbery; that was the whole point. I guess they had to say that or it would look suspicious."

"But it says they were stolen from the Deputy Chief of Police's house. That's who you were working for wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but maybe it's a trick. Or," Gumshoe took a deep breath and got up "or some other stuff was stolen from his place while he was out meetin' me. He said there was a spy ring in the police."

"I don't think it's like that Dick," Connie gathered the paper up timidly. "It's too much of a coincidence."

"It's fine, I'm sure it is, pal," Gumshoe insisted as he went to finish his coffee, trying to convince himself nothing was wrong. Connie, meanwhile, looked at the paper again and mentioned "Maybe you're right. It does look like just an ordinary break in- It says a diamond necklace was stolen too."

Coffee sprayed from Gumshoe's mouth in a fountain.

"That's the same house, pal! There was a necklace in the safe!"

Connie gasped.

"You don't mean… you… that necklace…"

"Not _me_! That guy Locksmith- he stole it,"

"But what does all this mean then?"

"Saying it was the Deputy Chief's house that was robbed must just be a trick meant to fool the spy ring, but he'll think I stole that necklace myself," Gumshoe wrung his hand in exasperation. "I'll have to go to Mister Heller and explain that it was Locksmith who stole it."

Connie stood up and dumped the jumbled paper on the armchair.

"Alright, but come and see me as soon as you've talked to him; I won't be able to stop worrying until this is sorted out," she looked at the clock. "It's getting late- we better get going."

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As soon as he'd parked the car, Gumshoe only stopped long enough to share a quick kiss and hear a "Good luck, Gummy-bear," from his girlfriend, before he was on his way to locate the office of the Deputy Chief of Police. He hadn't even stopped to change into his uniform. All he could think about was getting an explanation for that ugly, accusing headline. Surely he hadn't done anything wrong- he'd only followed the instructions of Thomas Heller. There had to be a good reason for the story that had been given to the media. But what?

"You can't see Mister Heller without an appointment," insisted the secretary outside the said man's office, bringing Gumshoe's wandering attention back to the situation at hand.

"Look, pal- this is an emergency. I've got to see the big guy right now!"

"You can't just wander in whenever you like. You haven't even got the right to be here, _officer_."

Gumshoe growled at the sour faced woman, and went to reply sharply, but the door to the adjoining office suddenly opened. Gumshoe decided it was now or never.

Ignoring the protests of the secretary, Gumshoe barged past whoever it was coming out of the office and marched right up to the desk.

"Mister Heller; I need to speak to you abou-"

Gumshoe stopped talking. His mouth went dry, and his eyes bulged in his head. The man behind the desk glared at him.

"Who are you? And what do you want?"

The man seated in the office was perfectly bald and dark skinned, with a round face, and a height and build that was average to his age that was somewhere in his late forties.

Any theory Gumshoe had devised to explain the deviation of events described in the morning paper was blown out of the water.

Thomas Heller was _not_ the man who'd employed Gumshoe.


	4. Chapter 4

Undercover

"O-M-GEEE!" Maya squealed as she gripped the bars at the end of the hospital bed and bounced her knees on the mattress, Miles looking daggers at her from where he'd been pushed over to the side. "So it was a hoax, right!"

"Sure was, pal. So I was left standin' there, completed shattered, while the boss was waitin' for me to explain why I'd just run into his office like that."

"Gumshoe, don't you think this story is getting a bit farfetched?" ventured Nick. Both Gumshoe and Maya round on the ex-attorney in shock.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean, pal ! ?"

"Don't say that, Nick! Just because it sounds completely mad doesn't mean it isn't a good story."

"What?" Gumshoe look at Maya aghast. "No, it's all true- seriously pal!"

"Really?" Maya's energy drained away as she looked uncertainly at the detective. "I thought you were just telling a story to entertain Mister Edgeworth."

"If he is reciting this tale to entertain me then I'd just as soon be bored stiff."

"No, it's a true story! How do you think I could have become a detective unless I'd done somethin' amazin' ! ?" he fumed, before he realised what he'd just said about himself. "Er… that is- I'm not sayin' that I couldn't just be promoted normally-"

"Well I believe your story, Gumshoe."

Everyone looked in complete surprise at Miles Edgeworth and his announcement.

"You believe me, sir ! ?" Gumshoe didn't bother to try and hide his joy.

"Of course. I mean let's review the facts- so far in this story you've been fooled by an imposter, broken into an innocent man's house, stolen confidential documents, handed them over to a mob spy and insulted the Deputy Chief of Police. Sounds completely in character for you."

The man's face fell.

"You don't need to say it like that, pal. I was tryin' my best."

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions," Wright quoted.

"I'm gonna stop telling you this story in a minute," Gumshoe moaned.

"No don't stop; I'm really enjoying it. Please keep going, Gummy-bear," Maya suddenly giggled. "You know, I'll never be able to look at you again without thinking of calling you that.

A pair of sniggers joined Maya's giggling. Gumshoe flared up.

"Look, do you want to hear the rest of this or not ! ?"

"No," the wounded man on the bed sighed, but Gumshoe failed to hear either him or Nick's sigh of "Alright then," over Maya's over the top, excitable answer.

"Yes, keep going; we've got to hear the whole thing!"

"Okay then, pal," Gumshoe settled again. "So, it was like this-

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"GUMSHOE, YOU IDIOT! Do you have any idea of the flak I'm taking because of you ! ?"

"I-"

"SHUT UP! The Deputy Chief's secretary has been on the phone to me all morning, wanting to know why I let you wander into his office- what the hell were you thinking ! ?"

"Well-"

"And on top of that, I've just had this report for your most recent arrest. 'Evidence mislaid'. The man stole a freakin' laptop; how did you mislay that ! ?"

"That-"

"You've done it this time, Gumshoe. Clear your desk, and not because it's filthy. You're suspended!"

That was the conversation that Gumshoe had had with Sergeant Bones after his disastrous entrance into the Deputy Chief's office, and the conversation he was relating to Connie as he sat in the canteen, still out of uniform.

"It's not like I need to change," Gumshoe said miserably "since, like, my career's over."

"That's not the point now Dick," Connie whispered. "You stole important files and gave them to someone you don't know. If they find out it was you... well, we've got to do something."

For once, Gumshoe was unable to summon a mental image of what special police agent Hank Bosh would be doing in his situation, and any thoughts he had of his father were of him looking down in disappointment at his son. Gumshoe knew he'd really blown it this time. He'd betrayed everyone and everything he'd ever believed in with one stupid act, and now investigations against criminal families were going to fail and good people were probably going to die. Gumshoe thought he might well be sick with shame and guilt.

'_Great police officer I am,'_ he said to himself. All his life, joining the police has been his most burning ambition. Now, that dream of his had been tainted forever. The way Gumshoe felt at that point, he was prepared to just quit his job, were it not for the fact that Bones seemed to be arranging that for him already.

"Come on, Dick! Only you can sort this thing out, and you're running out of time," said Connie, clearly distressed at seeing her boyfriend so destroyed.

Sometimes, under really bad circumstances (though this was the worst he'd ever been in), Gumshoe wondered exactly what Connie had ever seen in him. He wasn't successful, he wasn't smart, and he wasn't particularly good looking. He always told himself that he had plenty of qualities deep down, but in the cold light of clarity he knew that the only thing he had to offer someone like Connie was blind, dog-like devotion.

The more he scrutinised himself, the more it seemed that he was nothing but a complete failure. He hadn't even properly completed tasks given to him by the false Deputy Chief. Only that morning he'd-

Suddenly, Gumshoe realised he was wearing the same jeans he was wearing last night. He dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a particular item.

"This is the envelope that guy gave me," Gumshoe explained as he laid it on the table. "Maybe we can use this somehow."

"But where's all the stuff inside it?" Connie asked.

"Oh," Gumshoe suddenly remembered. "The guy told me to burn the stuff when I was done with it. I wanted to keep the envelope as… you know, a souvenir, so-"

Connie sighed in defeat.

"Well, perhaps I can look in the archives and find out something about that crest with the spaceman in the boots. Do you have any other clues we can use?"

Gumshoe racked his brains, but came up blank. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to clearly describe the face of the fake Thomas Heller, though he expected he'd recognise him if he saw him again. As Gumshoe tried harder and harder to think of something useful, he slid further and further back into his depressed state. It seemed that everything he'd ever achieved had been due to dumb luck, or the assistance of someone else. Even his greatest feat, designing a bug detector as a child, had only been possible from getting ideas from his favourite TV show.

'_And a fat load of good it's done me now!'_ Gumshoe thought savagely as he reminded himself of all the stupid ideas he'd got from Hank Bosh, like sticking little mirrors on his radio and cell phone or hiding razor blades in his watch and breaking it, or sticking a video camera in his car.

…

Or sticking a _video camera_… in his car!

Gumshoe leapt up.

"Of course! I've got his face, and his car number!" Gumshoe, vaguely aware that his exuberant announcement had been heard by everyone in the canteen, dragged Connie out of the room and into the hall.

"Connie, get down to where you work and look up that spaceman thing. I'm goin' back home. When I get that car number, I'll call you and you can look it up and see who it's for and what address it's listed at."

"Hey, that's great! I knew you'd come up with something, Gummy-bear!" Connie chimed happily.

"Heh heh- well you got me started on it," Gumshoe chuckled. "Thanks sweetheart. I've gotta go now though. Like you said, we might be runnin' out of time."

Connie nodded sharply. Before she left, she made a small jump, and managed to get her arms around the back of Gumshoe's neck. With some help from her boyfriend, she hoisted herself up and gave him a deep kiss on the lips. Then she hopped down again and went scampering off as Gumshoe made his way to the exit.

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By the time it was getting on for twelve o'clock, Gumshoe had been waiting for over an hour for Connie to call him back. Surely she wasn't waiting for lunch to give him the details? Come to think of it, he should have felt staving by then. He supposed the stress that had been tying his guts in a knot had been sating any hunger. Nevertheless, at twelve o'clock exactly he'd started preparing something to eat. Now he sat in a state that resembled awe before his meal- a double decker sandwich- a combination of bacon, fried egg, sausage, hash brown, grilled tomato and cheese, with plenty of brown sauce. The effort put into making the monstrosity had drawn Gumshoe's thoughts away from the crisis he was in and he felt much calmer, though his mouth was watering heavily and his hunger was back with vengeance.

Making an effort not to tip the thing over, Gumshoe carefully gathered up the sandwich into his paws and raised it dripping towards his mouth. His stomach burbled loudly.

"Easy boy," he reassured it. He lifted the meal slowly towards himself, savouring the sight and smell of it. Gumshoe widened his jaw as far as it would go and squeezed the two slices of bread together, eager for the fat sandwich to fit so that he could take that first glorious bite.

'_RING'!_

Gumshoe shot out of his seat, somehow managing to scatter his sandwich _everywhere_. He bashed his knees against the table, and fell back into his chair with a yelp.

Gathering his wits, he realised that the entire kitchen table was covered in the foodstuffs he'd been planning to consume. His stomach cried out in despair at the sight of the precious fried food with its coating of creamy brown sauce gone to waste. Gumshoe snarled at the mess and cursed loudly, then looked guiltily at the wall, hoping the neighbour's kids hadn't heard him.

With a sense of regret and woe, the man turned his back on the pulp that was now occupying his table and reached unthinking for the phone.

"Hello?"

"**Dick, where have you been ! ?"**

Gumshoe recognised Connie's voice, but his mind took a moment to work out the significance of the call. Then his mind slowly recalled the details of their conversation earlier, and the whole stolen files business came rushing back.

"Connie, where have you been ! ?"

"**I said it first,"** huffed Connie down the phone.

Gumshoe balked, unsure what to say, then replied "Never mind; did you find out anything?"

"**I couldn't find anything on that spaceman emblem, but it's been so busy today I haven't had time to check very hard, but I looked up that car number."**

"And?"

"**Well, it was weird. There were different entries for it. It looks like it's some sort of special police vehicle."**

Gumshoe paused, a small but prominent flame of hope in his heart. Maybe if the car was being used by the police, the whole thing had been part of a police operation after all. He said as much to his girlfriend.

"**Well, maybe,"** she sounded doubtful. **"The car is registered under the name of Alec Tremaine. I've got an address too."**

"Okay, give it to me and I'll write it down."

"**What are you going to do, Dick?"**

Gumshoe frowned.

"I'm gonna have to go round there and get some answers. And I've gotta get them from the man I spoke to last night."

"**Can't you just come back to the precinct and speak to Bones about it?"**

"She'll never listen to me. Anyway, if there _is_ somethin' screwy goin' on, I've got no evidence, and I stole the stuff. I've gotta find out about what's going on before anyone else finds out, or I might be lookin' at thirty years."

There was a pause as Connie thought about it.

"**Okay, but be careful, Dick. And call me as soon as you know something."**

"Sure thing, pal."

Gumshoe got the address and ended the call. He decided to leave immediately rather than dwell on things any further. He hated the thought that he was worrying his girlfriend, but it was obvious even to him that he was in a very tricky situation, and couldn't leave anything to chance.

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At about the same time that Gumshoe was re-taping his video camera to the dashboard of his car, the man who'd introduced himself as the Deputy Chief of Police heard a knock on his office door at the police precinct.

"Yes?" the light skinned, dark eyed man didn't even look up from his work.

"Captain Alec Tremaine?" a smooth and polite voice asked as soon as the door opened.

"Correct. How can I help?"

"I'm Lieutenant Wong- I'm heading up the investigation of the files stolen from Deputy Heller's home."

The captain looked up at the oriental officer, hiding the surprise and concern he felt over being approached about the aforementioned incident.

"I see. And why have you come to me? I expect you know that me and my unit are not being assigned to missions at this time."

"I'm not here to appoint you, captain. I'm carrying out a routine questioning of officers with relevance to the data contained in the missing files, and because of the recent accusations against you over-"

"I don't see that _that_ has anything to do with it," Tremaine bristled.

"Like I say, it's just routine questioning. For a start, you were aware that those documents were in Mister Heller's house?"

"Yes."

"Who else in your unit knew about this?"

Alec Tremaine set his brain to automatic to answer the questions. Surely they wouldn't be able to trace his involvement with those files? Even if they found out about Gumshoe, there was nothing the man could say that could lead back to him. Yet still he worried. The way things were at the moment, he couldn't afford to allow anything to go wrong. He'd have to keep a close eye on that cop to make sure he didn't dig too deep.

The questioning didn't last very long, and they were as routine and uninteresting as could be. Still, Captain Alec Tremaine felt a lot more uncomfortable about that he allowed himself to appear.

"If you do think of anything useful, call me," Wong said as he set down a card on the table.

"Alright then," Tremaine agreed. "Have you made any progress so far?"

Wong looked back at him as he was heading out the door.

"We know that it was an experienced safe breaker who did the robbery- they all have the own methods. It shouldn't take too long to round him up. From there, it's simply a case of finding out who he was working for."

With a last stern look at the captain, Lieutenant Wong left the room. Tremaine looked down at his desk, not seeing the mass of files waiting patiently for his attention.

He knew he had no choice but to do nothing. As long as nothing happened to draw attention to him or his unit, he wouldn't be found out.

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Gumshoe was close to the address of the now named Alec Tremaine, parked a couple of streets away. He believed that it was another stroke of genius on his part not to get too close to the house and give himself away, but after his recent disasters he wasn't sure if he should trust his first instincts. He sat in his vehicle as he tried to decide on his next course of action, but as always his mind was wandering.

Gumshoe was getting more and more doubtful that this was just a simple misunderstanding. He couldn't work out what exactly was going on, but he was certain that there was a corrupt element in the police force behind it. Gumshoe lamented to himself over the matter- how could anyone join the police and train and work to fight crime, only to sell their soul to the worst kind of scum that could be found on the street for nothing but money? Gumshoe was just glad he hadn't been born in the Al Capone era, when police corruption had been rife and justice was controlled by the mob to better their own ends.

Not that today was any better, with the Counter Terrorism Unit under investigation, the local DA and internal affairs working flat out to find bent cops, and the elusive Alec Tremaine fooling him into stealing vital information about the underworld gangs of Los Angeles. It was enough to make Gumshoe sick.

Frustrated and dogged by hunger pangs, Gumshoe abandoned his thoughts and got out of the car, slamming the door as he headed for the address.

The building was either a small office or a set of flats. It was three stories high and built with drab grey blocks, decorated by bird droppings and the dust and filth that came with years of skilled neglect. Yeah, this was a poor part of town.

The sidewalk outside the building crackled as rubbish was crushed beneath Gumshoe's heavy feet. He looked around. There was no one about. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign.

Not seeing any other way to proceed, Gumshoe rapped sharply on the door to the building, the intercom looking too worse for wear to even try using. There was no reply to the knocking, so Gumshoe tried again, a little harder this time. There was a snap from the other side of the door, apparently the arm of a bolt being pulled back. A rusty scrapping sound indicated that the tongue of the door mechanism had licked out of its grove. The door pulled away slightly, and a single malevolent eye peaked out from the gap.

"What do you want?" an equally hostile voice asked. Taken aback by the abrupt attitude, honestly not knowing what to expect when he'd knocked, Gumshoe fumbled over his words.

"I… um… I'm here to… well-"

"Wasting my time, pal- get lost."

Hearing his own endearing character trait used against him ('pal' was his word!) Gumshoe felt his anger start to build.

"I'm here to see Alec Tremaine, so open up, pal!"

"No one here by that name. So long, pal."

Gumshoe's hand shot forward to stop the door closing.

"I know he's here, and I've gotta see him, _pal_!"

"You got something wrong with your ears, _pal_!"

"The only problem I got is standin' right in front of me, _**pal**_!"

"Get lost if you know what's good for you, _**pal**_!"

"No way, _**PAL**_!"

The man tried to slam the door again. This time, Gumshoe barged forward and forced the door open. The person behind the door stumbled back and reared up to their full height. Now inside, Gumshoe realised that the man he had been arguing with was a least a foot taller than him with the build and skin texture of a brick wall.

The huge person tossed a punch at the young police officer, who only managed to deflect it just in time. Gumshoe quickly shoved his assailant back. Face twisting with fury, the man seized Gumshoe by the collar of his shirt, stepped to one side and flipped Gumshoe through the air.

The world span for Gumshoe. He had a flashback from his childhood of the day he'd been hit by a car; the sense that the world had turned to chaos for a few seconds was familiar. The difference between that past incident and now was that the impact of the car had left him feeling numb. This, however, hurt… _a lot_.

A dull thud marked the end of Gumshoe's journey down the grimy hallway. He looked up in time to see the huge man reaching down before he was grabbed by the back of his neck. Gumshoe was lifted back off the floor, and then practically went sprawling again as a bony fist slapped into his stomach. He doubled up, trying desperately to breath in without it hurting. The great brute then kicked Gumshoe's chest. Gumshoe tried to cry out in pain, but only a slight wheeze came out.

Gumshoe backpedalled down the hall as his attacker advanced. He looked around and grabbed a nearby telephone attached to the wall. Tearing the cradle free of its screws, Gumshoe lobbed the thing at the man. The man caught the phone and threw it to the floor, but Gumshoe sprang forward with the telephone wire still clutched in his hand. Gumshoe wrapped the cord around his enemy's neck and pulled. The giant of a man lost his balance, and when Gumshoe's foot jabbed into his leg, his knee gave way and he ended up smashing his head against the wall.

Relishing his success, Gumshoe held the dazed man by the chin and looked him in the eye.

"Look, pal- I'm LAPD, and I haven't had my lunch, so don't mess me around! Where's Alec Tremaine?"

Before he could hear any answer, a noise behind Gumshoe caused him to spin round. Another man was coming at him, fists raised. Gumshoe adopted a boxer's fighting stance to block the expected punch. The blow never came, as the attacker changed his attack with lightning speed, sending a kick to the left side of Gumshoe's body just below the ribs. The cop wilted as pain burst from the soft flesh of his side and shot through his body. His attacker moved in to finish it with a firm karate chop to the peak of his head. Despite the pain, Gumshoe was in a clear enough state of mind to spot the hostile arm and bring up his own to halt it.

The assailant's other hand came flying out of nowhere. Gumshoe, thinking back to everything he'd ever learned about unarmed combat, brought up his guard with both arms held as a barrier in front of him. As soon as he felt the thud of the man's fist, Gumshoe latched onto the arm with one hand and held it in place while he delivered the heaviest strike he could muster to the guy's elbow. The thug grunted in pain as his whole left side seemed to slump from the weight of the pain. He backed off, trying to recover his combat momentum after the unexpectedly fierce attack. Gumshoe didn't miss his chance; he jumped forward and body slammed the smaller person off his feet. Gumshoe grinned as he watched him fall to the floor, confident in his victory. Then he was grabbed from behind.

'_Damn!'_ he thought to himself. While he'd been fighting, he'd forgotten about the first guy. He struggled, but the huge man pinned his arms behind his back, and not even Gumshoe's own impressive strength could break the hold. The other man picked himself up off the floor, and punched Gumshoe firmly in the gut. Still sore from when he was first struck in the stomach, Gumshoe groaned in pain and fell limp in the iron grip on his arms.

"Thought you could get the better of professionals, huh?" drawled the small man.

"Shall I throw him out?" said the big man.

"Idiot!" chastised Small. "Don't you realise who this must be? It's that guy, Gumshoe or whatever."

Gumshoe's ears perked up.

"H-Hey pal; how d'you know-"

Small pounded Gumshoe in the face with both his fists. The stunned cop collapsed again, barely hanging on to consciousness.

"So what do we do with him?" he heard Big ask.

With the sound of cracking knuckles, Small replied "We'll soften him up a bit, then lock him in the basement until the boss gets back and decides."

With a sadistic laugh, Small hit Gumshoe in the face again, then a third time, then a fourth. He punched him in the chest for good measure, then resumed hitting him in the face. Too overcome by more injury, Gumshoe quickly slipped in a dead faint.

Still the beating continued.


	5. Chapter 5

Illegal investigation

The man who'd introduced himself to Dick Gumshoe as the Deputy Chief of Police, the elusive Captain Alec Tremaine, was starting to feel a mite uncomfortable. Of course, he been well trained to conceal any trace of fear and to focus on accomplishing any task put to him, but that didn't mean the fear was dead. Tremaine cursed his bad luck that the gangsters he worked for had found out about the Gumshoe problem.

"**I said we shouldn't get outsiders involved in this,"** the gangster said roughly down the phone.

"He doesn't know anything; he's not important," Tremaine held the phone in a white-knuckled grip, nerves in tatters.

"**He's already tracked down your safe house. How much else do you suppose he knows?"**

"I'll get my men to deal with him."

"**No. You're already failed enough. I'm sending one of my people to do it; someone who'll make him talk before he dies."**

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"Gumshoe, how could you have known that was going on?"

"Eh?" Gumshoe fell out of his flow of thought as Nick interrupted.

"He's right, Gumshoe," Miles joined in. "The last we heard of you, you'd walked straight into a trap and had been locked unconscious in a basement. How could you know about that phone call? And why would this Tremaine character risk speaking to a gangster directly if his office is in the police precinct?"

"Well somethin' _like_ that must have happened, pal. If you just let me go on with this story-"

"So who is Tremaine? Ooo, 'Tremaine'. That sounds like such an evil name. I bet he's a spy for another country or something. I can always tell when someone's bad by hearing their name. If they've got like two syllables in their surname you can bet there's something bad about them."

Both Gumshoe and Edgeworth went to interrupt Maya, but she ploughed on relentlessly.

"I mean, think of all the bad people we know with two syllables in their surname- Atmey, Engarde, Luthor, Blofeld, Moriarty-"

"That's four syllables Maya," Phoenix corrected.

"Yeah, but that's because he's twice as bad. Stop trying to spoil it, Nick! Anyway, why should I trust you? Your first name has two syllables. How do we know you haven't swapped your names around to try and fool us?"

"Because 'Wright Phoenix' sounds stupid?"

Maya paused and tried to think of a way around that. Seeing that the overspill of Maya's insane logic had ceased, Gumshoe seized his opportunity to continue.

"Well anyway, somethin' like that probably happened, because by the time I woke up again it was, like, the middle of the afternoon…"

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The first sensation he was aware of was discomfort. Not pain or confusion, but simply how unpleasant it was to be lying on his front on a hard surface. His sluggish thoughts prevented him from showing any reaction to his situation, and so Gumshoe endured the strain on his body for a length of time he couldn't comprehend, until it finally occurred to him that when one was uncomfortable they should move to a better position.

The young cop tried to get up, but that was when he started to acknowledge the pain. He nearly cried out as a lightning lash of sharp agony lanced through his body, but he could only manage a grunt. He breathed deeply as he tried to remember what had happened, but his memory was a blur. With his muscles on fire and his stomach beset by waves of nausea, Gumshoe slowly began to force himself up. Every move he made was a challenge, but the pain was like a bucket of cold water, pulling Gumshoe from incomprehension to wakefulness. His memory started off gently, reminding him of the most insignificant things first and working upwards- getting up that morning, breakfast, driving in the car, getting suspended (heck, that was a pretty important thing to forget), he hadn't had lunch yet (that was even more important), trying to find the guy who tricked him into stealing important police files-

Gumshoe's thoughts resumed normal service with a flurry of panic. He bounded to his feet, physically forcing himself not to fall back down as his many injuries ignited again.

Gumshoe looked at his watch, before remembering that it didn't work because there was a razor blade hidden in it. He checked for his mobile but it wasn't there. He had no idea of the time but he had a feeling it had been a while since he'd first arrived on the premises. With horror, he realised that if it was past five o'clock he wouldn't be in time to give Connie a lift; she'd have to get the bus. Then Gumshoe noticed his surroundings, and decided that he'd better worry about his own arrangements for getting home more than Connie's.

He was in a dark, dank basement filled with piles of styrofoam, cardboard boxes and pieces of furniture in various states of disrepair. Gumshoe turned to see where the tiny splash of light in the room was coming from, and promptly tripped over a broken chair. Suppressing a few embarrassing whimpers of pain, he got back up again and limped towards the source of the light. It seemed that the door to the basement had a small hole in it like a window, except that it had no glass. It was set at head height, for an ordinary man, which meant Gumshoe had to stoop a little to see through it. As he peered through, another face appeared on the other side, apparently investigating the sound of the prisoner tripping himself up. The dark skinned man scowled at the police officer, who scowled back in return.

"Lemme outta here!" blasted Gumshoe.

"No dice, man," the guard replied. Gumshoe snatched at the door handle and tried to open it, but as he suspected it was firmly locked. The guard watched him with bored eyes.

Gumshoe squared his shoulders and said "Listen, pal. Do you know that it's a cop you're holding against his will in here?"

"Of course we know who you are, idiot. If we didn't care who you were we would've just thrown you out on the street."

Gumshoe was tempted to stick his hand through the window and punch the arrogant guy in the face, but he had the overwhelming conviction that he just might lose his hand if he did that. Reluctantly, Gumshoe backed away from the door, and the guard followed suit.

Gumshoe returned to his dark prison, carefully stepping over the entrails of clutter that were strewn about. Thinking hard, he tried to come up with a plan.

He had to get out, that much was clear, but he didn't know how. And he had to find out about Alec Tremaine before he could leave, or he'd be in the same situation he'd been before he arrived.

'_Apart from havin' been beaten to a pulp,'_ he thought grimly as he gingerly felt a blackened eye.

Gumshoe recalled that he'd once heard that sometimes a door could be forced open with a credit card. He quickly went for his wallet to test the theory, but discovered it wasn't there. Gumshoe clutched at his empty pocket in wonder, before realising that the thugs upstairs must have confiscated it along with his mobile. The revelation took a moment to sink in, then the storm of his temper rose up and shook him to the core.

'_They stole my wallet!'_ Gumshoe howled in his mind. He had nearly fifteen dollars in that wallet, and some big bicep lug had taken it. Then and there, Gumshoe decided no more mister nice guy. He was going to get the better of these kidnappers, and to do that he was going to come up with a truly award winning escape plan. Gumshoe looked back to the door, and started meditating on what special agent Hank Bosh would do.

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After the brief argument between the police officer and one of his captors, said guard had returned to his chair at the door to the basement stairway. The argument had been about five minutes ago. Guard duty was boring, but the man didn't allow himself to be lulled into passiveness. That was why he heard the distant sound of breaking glass down below. The guard looked to the door that had been left ajar. For a moment, the thought that the prisoner had found a window to escape through crossed his mind, but he reminded himself that he knew there were no windows down there. His thoughts turned away from the sound and back to the patrol his eyes were making as they travelled across the stretch of the hallway his was in. There was no other reaction from him until he heard a great 'CRASH' from the basement.

The guard rose to his feet instinctively. He considered getting one of the others to come back him up, but decided he was more than a match for a single man. He went through the door and descended into the belly of the building. Coming to the locked door of the basement, he peered through the window into the room. This time, his view was blocked by more than a lack of light- an old shelf and been moved to in front of the door and tipped over so it lay at an angle against the doorframe. The guard looked down and made out the shape of a chair frame braced against the handle. With a surge of adrenaline the guard decided that Gumshoe must have found a way out and had barricaded the door to prevent any interference with his escape. Fortunately, the cop had failed to notice that the door to the basement opened outwards, not inwards, and just pulling the door open allowed it to come free of the chair.

The guard stormed into the room, tipping the shelves back with ease. His eyes scanned the room for sign of movement. Pity he didn't rely on his ears, or else he may have heard the rustle from the side of the doorway before someone battered him over the head.

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"Take that!" Gumshoe cried quietly as the bad guy hit the ground. He dropped the broken chair leg and took a moment to delight in his victory. It was just the sort of thing Hank Bosh would do. However, Gumshoe's bravado was mollified by the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to deal with the other members of the household so easily. He remembered hearing the one who'd beaten him up say that they were 'professionals'. Any thoughts that this was all just a misunderstanding had long since passed. Clearly the people in the building were indeed members of the police; turncoats who were working for the mob. Gumshoe could feel his innards burning, both affronted and humiliated that the profession he believed in so fervently had been debased by the fellow officers who'd turned on him. It made the defeat of the man now lying on the floor particularly satisfying.

'Don't worry, Hank. I'll make 'em pay,' Gumshoe thought as he imagined the fictional agent looking down at the knocked out traitor with eyes haunted by furious disappointment. Gumshoe forced his mind back to the present and searched the guard. The search yielded nothing except a pistol (which he discarded), some pepper spray and a pair of handcuffs. Taking the latter two items, Gumshoe swiftly made his way upstairs, remembering to step on the edge of the steps rather than the middle in order to make them creak as little as possible.

Once on the ground floor again, Gumshoe determined by the wallpaper that it was indeed the same house. He was in the hall again, further down from the telephone he'd used in his earlier battle. Gumshoe noted a few specks of recent blood on the carpet near the phone. He checked himself and unhappily confirmed that they corresponded with still weeping lacerations on his body. He ignored them.

Gumshoe tried the phone, considering calling for police reinforcements, but there was no dial tone. He looked at the dead receiver with a slightly puzzled expression. Surely, when working in a group, the most important thing to have was communication- so where were the communicators?

The sound of movement on the floor above startled Gumshoe. He buried himself in the shadow of the phone table, gazing at the foot of the stairs which began next to the front door. He waited as the footfalls kept sync with the ticking seconds while his heart rate increased to a faster pace, waiting for the moment that those seconds would count down to zero and the person would appear in the hallway to find the escaping police officer.

Eventually the countdown stopped with the footsteps, and the hall became silent again. Gumshoe let out the breath he'd been holding. He steeled himself and planned his next move. Maybe all of his adversaries were upstairs? In that case, it'd be best to search downstairs first, right?

Dick Gumshoe lurked to the other end of the hall with panther movements. He spotted two doors, one straight ahead that was open, and a half closed one on the right. From tuneless humming of a microwave and the smell of pizza, Gumshoe deduced that the open door led to the kitchen. A quick glance confirmed both this and the fact that there was no one in there. A seismic tremor from his stomach reminded Gumshoe that he was staving. He briefly considered stealing the pizza for himself, but he immediately berated himself for the dishonest notion- imagine what his dad would say.

Gumshoe stealthily poked his head round the second door, keeping as low to the ground as possible to lessen the chance of being spotted. The room turned out to be a fully equipped office filled with computers, radios and recording devices. The sudden discovery of the technologically stocked room in the shabby surroundings surprised Gumshoe so that for a moment he didn't notice the huge man who'd answered the front door when he'd first arrived. Fortunately, the man was sitting with his back to the door, using a short wave radio device. Seeing that the thug wouldn't hear anything with the headphones biting down on his ears, Gumshoe entered the room carefully, immediately spying his cell phone and wallet left on the desk where the villain sat.

He stood a couple of feet away from the oblivious man, wondering _'What now?'_

He'd had a fight with the guy and had been knocked cold. He didn't want a repeat of the incident. He began considering the best way he could sneak up on the criminal and take him down; perhaps a choke hold, or the pepper spray he took from the guard? If it was Hank Bosh doing it, he'd have had the forethought to bring a frying pan from the kitchen to brain the man with. Gumshoe resolved to make use of the pepper spray, taking the little aerosol from the pocket of his pants. The slight scent of the cruel gas toyed in a deceptively playful fashion with Gumshoe's nostrils. He held the spray at arm's length and carefully shut the door to deaden the noise of the impending conflict.

Gumshoe took a single step towards his enemy, coiling his muscles into springs as he prepared to pounce, when all of a sudden his was confronted by an apparition. The dark hair on the back of the man's head took the shape of a beard in Gumshoe's mind's eye, and before him the face of his father appeared, scowling at the pepper spray.

"_A real man don't pull stuff like that, Dick," _the ghost of the past mirrored the words he'd spoken years ago. _"-not with a gun or knife or the other stuff those animals use. A real man gives 'em a taste of the ol' one-two; give 'em the good hiding they deserve."_

Gumshoe looked at the pepper spray in his hand. Inexplicably, a feeling of disgust came over him. He dropped the spray. His dad was right- that sort of thing was what these cohorts of Alec Tremaine did. Gumshoe knew he was better than that. He wouldn't stoop to their level, or else their treacherous ways would have already won. He didn't need weapons like spray or guns or whatever- all he needed were his fists and the courage to use them in the name of the law, something that these double crossers lacked.

"_That's what a real man does, Dick,"_ his dad encouraged, and he was right. Why should a police officer have to skulk and hide? Sure, he might take a few hits in the process but, what the hell!

"_- I'll see you grow to be a real man if it kills me!"_

"You got that right, pa. Just watch this!"

Gumshoe tapped the mountain of muscle and bone on the shoulder. The man turned round in surprise, and was immediately met by Gumshoe's meaty fist.

The fight was on.

With a second blow, Gumshoe lifted the brute out of the chair and lobbed him onto the desk. The man's response was fast, trying to kick back the police officer, but Gumshoe overturned the table and spilled the giant onto the floor. Gumshoe rushed over and booted him in the stomach once, before giving him a chance to stagger to his feet.

Winded and with his jaw successfully broken, the man couldn't call out for help. Recognising the golden opportunity he had, Gumshoe powered into the man while he had his chance, hitting him with quick and solid jabs. The traitor blocked a few blows and sent some of his own back at his attacker. Driven by adrenaline and righteous fury, Gumshoe soaked them up and kept on going.

The huge goon fell to the floor again, but this time it was a feint. He grabbed Gumshoe by both the ankle and knee of his left leg and pulled. The police officer flipped in the air and smashed onto the uncarpeted floor. Immediately, the giant of a man was pawing at Gumshoe's throat, seeking to choke the life out of him. Iron fingers shrank together around Gumshoe's neck, and pain expanded in his head, muting his ears, pressing against his skull. In less than five seconds he was already becoming dizzy and his eyes were bulging so much they hurt. He fought to get the man off him, but his weight and strength kept him in place. Gumshoe's lungs began to ache from lack of oxygen. The policeman tried gripping the hands at his throat but it was like slapping at stone. His body convulsed, desperate spasms to take in precious, life giving air. Still the bestial man held him in his grip, the damage to Gumshoe's windpipe reaching the point of no return. With mist crawling over his eyes, Gumshoe reached towards the other man's face in a last panic fuelled effort to save himself.

Gumshoe found the man's nose, took hold of it, and twisted sharply.

The pressure upon Gumshoe's neck relinquished. Even with muffled ears, he heard the satisfying moan of the guy above him as he clutched his snout in agony. It only lasted for a second though. Soon the heavily built turncoat had gripped his hands together and had raised them above his head to strike the cop with a sledgehammer like blow. Gumshoe lashed out with the blade of his index finger like he'd seen overenthusiastic attorneys do, sinking the digit into a squishy eye socket. The man let out a banshee howl, which was cut off as Gumshoe thrust the heel of his palm into his throat. Back on the offensive, Gumshoe threw the gasping man back and proceeded to pummel him into a gibbering idiot. The man's skull rattled with the force of the blows that rained upon him. He tried hitting back, but every punch and kick just seemed to bounce off the furious cop. At last the fighting came to an end when the huge man, along with his cuts and broken bones, collapsed in a heap.

The once proud ogre, now appearing to be on the brink of a nervous breakdown, looked up as Gumshoe loomed over him. Without another word, Gumshoe balled his fist and brought it down on top of the man's head, knocking him cold

Finally victorious, Gumshoe fell to his hands and knees, gasping and choking with effort. He'd never been in a fight like that before. He recalled that whenever Hank Bosh had triumphed, he didn't appear out of breath. All he did was straighten his clothes and dust off his hands. Thinking back, Gumshoe realised he probably should have taken more notice of his dad when it came to fighting; he'd ended up in plenty of fights, either with other dock-hands or with one of the random miscreants that stalked the poor area they lived in.

Gumshoe shook his head to clear his thoughts. Now was not the time for that.

His got to his feet and surveyed the room. The great brute he'd felled didn't look like he'd be waking up any time soon. No gun toting maniac had come through the door, so he assumed his conflict hadn't been overheard. The radio that had been on the desk was now spluttering on the floor next to the overturned piece of furniture, playing back random snatches of conversation from the damaged recording device it was connected to. Even though the headphone had been pulled out, the voice of the radio was quiet and unclear, so Gumshoe wasn't worried about anyone upstairs hearing it.

Gumshoe retrieved his cell phone and wallet gladly, returning them to their rightful place in his pockets. He also made a quick search of the unconscious villain, but found nothing of any use except the key for the front door. For extra precaution, he slapped the commandeered handcuffs onto the man's wrists.

Deciding it was time to go, Gumshoe stuck back to the door of the room. He was just about to open it, when a bombshell dropped into his mind.

"**Tremaine,"**

The name was said softly, but in Gumshoe ears it was as loud as gunfire. He span around, looking for some explanation to the voice that spoke that untrustworthy name.

His eyes fell on the radio.

Gumshoe pounced on the radio, turning it upright and then reaching out to the old fashioned recorder. The young man remembered briefly that he'd once had a great uncle with a device similar to this, and that such things were more common during the days of the second world war. Why these people had been saddled with such an old machine he couldn't imagine, but he certainly wasn't going to complain- technology more complicated than a car or a cooker usually went way over his head.

After a quick exercise of trial and error, the film on the recorder was spinning back to the start. When the scroll of tape was fully wound up, he pressed the play button.

"_**fzzt-rrrrh**_**- Message-**_**zzzzzach**_**- Tremaine and file-**_**cheeeer**_**- key one six three tonig-**_**freeee**_**- eight o'cloc-**_**grraaah**_**-"**

Gumshoe whacked the radio to try and clear the terrible interference drilling into his skull. The machine stopped working altogether.

"Damn!" Gumshoe shouted, then threw a glance at the door as he remembered he was supposed to be keeping quite.

Gumshoe decided that the film might be important evidence. He grasped at the pair of plastic wheels that held the film, reasoning that removing it couldn't be much more complicated than making the thing work. This was soon proved incorrect as Gumshoe managed to pull the length of film free by snapping it in the middle.

Gumshoe started dumbfounded at what he done, before shouting "Damn!" again and throwing what was now merely proof of his carelessness out of sight.

After calming down with deep breaths, Gumshoe gave up worrying about film- he was running out of time. He had to get away from that place, _now_.

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Gumshoe entered the street where he lived with his mind buzzing with thought, nearly hitting a nearby jogger as he did. It was now past six o'clock. Connie was probably worried sick about him, while Alec Tremaine was going to be doing something in two hours which could be Gumshoe's chance to clear up the mess he was in, or the moment when those stolen files vanished and all hope was lost. He had few if any clues, and whoever it was he was up against, they were prepared to commit kidnap, and probably even murder to achieve their aims. The best thing he could think to do was to get home and speak with Connie about it; maybe together they could think of something.

Gumshoe parked his car in his usual place on the road and made to get out of the vehicle. At that moment, the passenger door opened. Gumshoe turned to see who it was, and froze.

He was staring into the cave of a large calibre revolver barrel.

"Always pays to watch the flat before going in. That's one of my rules," said a cold voice. A good looking man dressed in a tracksuit got into the car. Gumshoe realised it was the jogger who'd been near the mouth of the street.

Noticing Gumshoe looking at his clothes, the guy said "Yeah, someone going for an after work run; who'd think there's anything wrong with that, right?"

"What d'you want, pal?"

"I heard you're upsetting a friend of mind called Tremaine. I'm here to find out exactly what you know about him and who else knows, then kill you."

Gumshoe's eyes boggled at the word 'kill'.

"How'd you know I live here?" he demanded.

"Not too difficult to get into police records with Tremaine on our side," the assassin waggled his gun playfully. "Been watching this place for a while now. Cute girlfriend."

Gumshoe glared at the man in rage and horror.

"Don't worry; I haven't been in there yet. I always watch a person's home first in case something happens that I should know about. I can tell you that your girl isn't cheating on you."

The hired gun sniggered, while Gumshoe squeezed the steering wheel in his grip and tried to keep his conflicting emotions from exploding out of himself. The villain continued.

"Well, what happens to your girl and your flat is another story. For now, anywhere you'd like a last look at?"

"Police headquarters?"

"No can do. Now drive."


	6. Chapter 6

To grips with the enemy

The hit man had concealed the gun under his tracksuit top. He kept giving Gumshoe sudden, sharp instructions that Gumshoe had to nearly crash his car in order to follow.

"Left here!" the man yelled. Gumshoe pulled on the wheel hard and was nearly thrown from his seat.

"You're losing speed; faster, cop!"

Gumshoe snarled as he pushed on the accelerator harder than he should have. He wondered if he should crash on purpose to get out of his current crisis, but gave up on the idea as being too risky.

Gumshoe did his best to block out the taunting of the man next to him, but his heart was burning with hatred, and the jeering thug's voice was a bitter tasting propellant that made the flames burn hotter. The flat was Gumshoe's refuge; his haven where he could take shelter from even the worst of days and do the things he enjoyed like watch TV, eat, or just lose himself in his partner's company. The idea that some punk had been stalking outside, watching when sweet little Connie came home unsuspectingly-

As if reading Gumshoe's thoughts, the gunman suddenly said "I couldn't help noticing how young that cute little thing looks. You sure she's at the legal age?"

Gumshoe rounded on his unwanted passenger with truly murderous intent.

"Don't you dare talk about her!"

The hired killer just laughed in his face.

"Shame on you officer. A relationship like that would be very bad for your promotion prospects."

Gumshoe held the man's gaze for a few seconds more, until he was forced to look back to the road ahead of him. He consoled himself with the knowledge that his dad had always said that staring competitions were for idiots.

"Then again," the kidnapper drew Gumshoe's reluctant attention again "after people see what you've done to that poor girl, your chances of promotion are going to be zero anyway."

"What are you talkin' about? I haven't done anythin' to her."

"Look, it's nothing personal," the criminal grinned a grin that suggested it was indeed nothing personal but simply pleasurable to him "but after I'm through squeezing info from you, you're going to have to vanish, and I'll need an explanation of where you've gone. So, once I'm done checking your place for evidence, I'll have the opportunity to _kill_ two birds with one stone."

Gumshoe felt unease crawling up the back of his neck and lifting the hairs one by one.

"You see, everyone knows you've been suspended, and naturally you're upset and angry. I mean you only need to lose your temper and lash out once, and then it's too late. And so Officer Dick Gumshoe vanishes to commit suicide, having been overcome by the guilt of knocking his girlfriend down the stairs and breaking her neck."

Gumshoe nearby crashed into a line of parked cars.

"You can't do that!" he bawled unabashedly, before calming herself down before he did something stupid. "That would never work in a million years, pal! Who would believe I'd ever accidently kill my own girlfriend?"

"Oh they'll never understand it," the villain agreed confidently "but they'll have to believe what they see, and I'll make the crime scene look _very_ convincing."

Now Gumshoe was in panic mode. Behind that smug smile, Gumshoe could see the eyes of a ruthless and sadistic killer. Unless he could somehow get that gun away from him, the guy was clearly going to torture him to death for what he knew about Tremaine, then go and kill Connie to tie up the loose ends. Gumshoe's breathing became shallow at the very thought of Connie at the mercy of this psychopath, without him there to protect her. The police officer bit down on his fear and turned it into determination. He wasn't going to let anything happen to his angelic girlfriend, and he certainly wasn't going to be set up by the sort of scumbag that his dad had warned him not to be afraid of. Now was the time for another Hank Bosh move, and Gumshoe knew just the one to use.

"Left turn here," the assassin said brightly, but this time Gumshoe went zooming past.

The stale air of the car went cold as the gunman took a moment to come to terms with the fact that someone had just defied him. Gumshoe smirked to himself. This punk was nothing but a bully who was used to using brute force to get what he wanted. Gumshoe recognised his sort from his school days; he'd stood up to at least three school bullies in his time, and the attitude he'd encountered was always the same.

"Turn this car around," the criminal's self-assured mask slipped and revealed the stroppy child who was used to getting his own way beneath. Despite being the one looking down a gun barrel, Gumshoe nearly laughed at the thug's anger.

"Turn back now!" the voice was laced with the transparent rage of someone unused to not being able to make someone cower by merely waving a gun their way. Gumshoe made no verbal reply; just turned to look at the man with a smug smile of his own.

The bogus jogger moved his face in dangerous proximity to Gumshoe's, holding the gun against the cop's arm.

"You only need one arm to steer. Do as I say or I'll blow it off!"

Gumshoe moved his hands slightly but did not comply. Nor did he speak or look away from his enemy. His dad had told him staring contests were for idiots, but if this hit man was idiotic enough to go for them, Gumshoe had the opportunity he needed.

With their eyes locked in a battle of wills, the assassin pulled back the hammer of his revolver, allowing its ominous 'click' to echo in the confines of the car.

A far less ominous click came from somewhere around Gumshoe's hip. The villain looked down and saw that Gumshoe had popped his safety belt into the lock.

With a triumphant snarl, Gumshoe stamped down on the brake. The car, which had been steadily gaining speed throughout the hostile exchange, stopped dead in the road. The hired gun just had time to allow a look of realisation to cross his face, before he was tossed headfirst into the windshield by the uninhibited momentum.

"Serves you right," Gumshoe stated as the criminal slumped back in his seat with a bloody forehead. "Should have worn your seat belt, pal."

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Gumshoe quickly found his way back home and took the unconscious criminal inside. After explaining everything to an extreme stressed Connie, the pair found themselves observing their captive like a fascinating curiosity.

"Dick, you might have killed him," Connie despaired.

"He was trying to kill us. Let's face it, who'd miss him if I had?" on the inside, Gumshoe cringed with guilt at the distressed look he'd put on Connie's face with that remark, but on the outside he remained cold and hard, still suffering from a sense of violation, knowing that his former captor had been spying on both his home and his beloved.

"Don't talk like that, Dick," his girlfriend clutched his arm imploringly, voice trembling like a whipped puppy. "This is getting way out of hand. Please just call the police."

Hating himself for upsetting her so much, Gumshoe wrapped a chunky arm round the tiny woman. He had to admit, things were getting far too big for him to cope with. Explaining the whole thing to the police was probably the best thing he could do; the presence of the assassin alone corroborated his story. But Gumshoe knew he still stood on shaky ground. Unless he approached his senior officers with the stolen files and Alec Tremaine in tow, he had little evidence to prove his innocence. He doubted he'd stand up well to a fearsome prosecutor in a court of law.

"Let's at least see if we can get any leads from this guy," Gumshoe asked. Connie looked disappointed, but reluctantly nodded.

"When they beat me up in that office building, one of them said they were professionals," Gumshoe explained as he searched the villain. "These guys must be corrupt cops."

Connie thought hard as Gumshoe made his search, looking on with owl-like wide eyes.

"You might be right. Remember that everyone at work keeps going on about how some special department was accused of being part of organised crime. It was the Counter Terrorism Unit, wasn't it?"

Gumshoe acknowledged the information with a thoughtful murmur. Connie had a point there. The drive to hunt down bent cops that was going on at the moment had started with the CTU scandal; he remembered Bones telling him about it personally.

A new piece of evidence broke Gumshoe's train of thought- an envelope from the hired killer's pocket. He quickly checked it out, but found that all it contained was the address of the flat they now stood in. Gumshoe looked over the envelope itself, and found a curious image imprinted on the front- a disc of black, studded with a random shower of white dots. At the heart of the motif was a man dressed as an astronaut, wearing fancy red leather boots with spurs.

A bell rang in the depths of Gumshoe's memory.

"Check this out, pal! That's the same picture that was on the letter Tremaine gave me!"

He brandished the envelope at Connie, who held a corner to keep it still while she looked at it.

"Dick, that reminds me," the young girl said cautiously. She went over to her handbag that had been abandoned on the sofa, and took out a sheet of paper.

"I looked up that picture again after I called you today. That picture comes from a boat called 'Moonwalker'." Connie handed the sheet to Gumshoe. The printout had a picture of a decrepit looking vessel that looked as though it may have been converted from the shell of a river boat. Alongside the picture was a list of police reports on the ship.

"That boat has been investigated before; the police think it's been used for running everything from drugs to phoney cash, but they're never been able to find evidence on-board. It's owned by a man who uses it for 'private local trade' whatever that means."

The mismatched pair studied the printout for a moment, trying to work out the relevance to their situation.

'_A… boat?'_ Gumshoe thought, before saying aloud "Any ideas?"

"Well," Connie frowned "it looks like this envelope must have been made for company use, so the person who owns the boat must be working for a criminal family, and he must be paying Tremaine to steal those files; but," the frown was replaced with a look gloomy defeat "it's like you say, there isn't much evidence to show that you're not the one responsible for this."

Connie worried her fingernails with her teeth while Gumshoe thought hard about the boat. There was something staring him right in the face, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Dick, are you sure you don't have any idea where you can find Tremaine?" Connie asked.

"I already told you everythin' I know; none of those guys who attacked me said anything about him."

"But you found out about that 'key one six three' at eight. That could mean any key, like, an airport locker or something. There's got to be some clue about what key it means."

Gumshoe grimaced in empathy with his girlfriend. He'd been so excited when he'd recovered that nugget of information, but without more detail it was useless; more than useless, as it was distracting him from thinking of anything else. The best lead he had now was the boat 'Moonwalker' that seemed to be at the heart of the conspiracy.

"I mean, key one six three could have any meaning."

Something clicked in Gumshoe's head. His mind was filled with an image of his dad, working at the docks, lugging crates back and forth. He remembered as a child playing around the docks, his every move overshadowed by smokestacks reaching to the sky, the air heavy with the smog of industry.

From his aged memories, a seemingly pointless piece of general knowledge came to the fore; dockland terminology.

'_What if,'_ Gumshoe's mind spoke to him _'it's 'key', as in Q-U-A-Y?'_

And just like that, the case unravelled, as though invisible chains that had been holding it together had been shattered.

"Connie, that's it!" Gumshoe positively jumped with excitement. "It means quay as in dock quay. That boat is putting in tonight at quay one six three and Tremaine's meeting them there to give them those files!"

Connie stared at her boyfriend, amazed at his masterstroke- she loved him dearly, but knew how thick he could be at times.

Gumshoe checked his phone and said "There's still enough time for me to get to the docks and catch them handin' the stuff over. I do that, and it's all over."

"What do you mean?" Connie exclaimed. "Why you? Just call the cops and let them deal with it."

"If they don't take me seriously, it'll be too late. I've gotta stop 'em myself, _then_ I can prove my story."

"But what if they-"

"This isn't just about me stayin' out of jail, Connie!" the words burst from Gumshoe's lips with such intensity that he managed to startle himself as much as Connie. "If those files are taken to one of the gangs, loads of agents are gonna get killed, and it could be years before anyone can get any evidence against them again!"

Connie didn't answer, too taken aback by the passion with which Gumshoe spoke. He continued.

"This is the whole city we're talkin' about! The people are dependin' on us; on me, pal! This is what I became a cop for- to show gang scum that they can't just go round terrorising folks and keep gettin' away with it!"

The young cop moved closer to Connie and put his hands on her shoulders. The girl's knees almost buckled under the sudden weight but she stayed standing, knowing that this was too important to ignore.

"Connie," Gumshoe sighed "I've got to do this. It… means everythin' to me. I need to-"

Gumshoe's patriotic speech was cut short as the tiny record keeper bounced up, latched her arms round his neck, and captured his mouth aggressively with hers. For his part, Gumshoe was glad to shut up and enjoy himself.

Perhaps it was because of how scared and excited he was, but Gumshoe doubted that his girlfriend had ever tasted sweeter. And he _was_ scared and excited by what was happening. He was about to try and defeat a ship load of people who would kill if he got in their way without batting an eyelid. It was the sort of thing he imagined himself doing when he was a kid; standing up to bullies and thieves, just like his dad always said he should. It felt like the call of destiny, as though his whole life has been leading up to the moment where he would prove that his beliefs weren't just talk; that he was actually prepared to follow his father's example, even though his dad had lost his life by refusing to tolerate an armed mugger. It was too much to be coincidence. This was Gumshoe's moment to do his duty as a police officer, and he was going to go through with it.

Arms tiring, Connie dropped back to the floor. The couple looked at each other with a new sort of understanding, and Gumshoe had to consciously quash the swell of emotion that his girlfriend planted in him before he was overwhelmed.

"Come back safely, Dick," Connie laid her hand on Gumshoe's chest, unable to comfortably reach up to touch his face. She then looked at the knocked out hit man.

"What about him?"

"I'll have to tie him up," Gumshoe approached the dozing figure. "Get me the duct tape."

"We don't have any duct tape."

"Well get me the masking tape."

Soon enough, the criminal was mummified in about three rolls of tape and Gumshoe was getting ready to leave. Despite every logical notion he had, he left the killer's gun with Connie for her to defend herself in case the bad guy woke up. He just couldn't abide the thought of taking the weapon with him.

The police officer had changed into his darkest clothes; it had started to get dark out and he hoped he'd be able to hide in the shadows as her boarded the 'Moonwalker'. He looked at himself in the bedroom mirror, unsatisfied.

"Not very good," he said to his equally doubtful reflection. "I won't hide very well like this. What would Hank Bosh do?"

Gumshoe replayed a few episodes of Hank Bosh in his head on speed mode. After a few seconds it occurred to him that maybe a disguise was better than camouflage. But what could he disguise himself as at a dock under the guard of gangsters?

"There must be somethin'," Gumshoe continued muttering to himself as he opened his wardrobe and dug through the curtain of clothing. A suit or two and some of his casual stuff. Nothing that said 'I'm not a cop in disguise who's trying to get on board your boat and arrest your boss'.

Then Gumshoe found it. It came so suddenly he almost went past it.

Gumshoe pulled a single garment from the wardrobe. It was tatty and covered in fluff, but it looked perfect. It was just the thing to disguise himself with, and on top of that, it was one of his favourite items of clothing, though he'd never worn it.

Once he was ready, Gumshoe quickly shared a final embrace with Connie (who he was pleased to hear approve of his 'disguise').

"Remember, don't take any unnecessary risks," she instructed. "As soon as you have something that will make the police listen to you, call them and hide till they get there, okay?"

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," Gumshoe assured her. "Just you wait- this time tomorrow we'll both be heroes!"

Connie smiled, her affection for her partner masking her fear pleasantly.

"Go get 'em, Gummy-Bear," she encouraged. Gumshoe grinned in a cheeky fashion, and then shut the door to his flat for what he knew may have been the last time in his life.

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The docks were the biggest stereotypical ecological nightmare that a man could hope to see. Even at night when work had stopped, engine smoke and fumes choked the sky. Buildings on the quayside and ships alike had been blasted by years on industrialisation, leaving them decayed and coated with rusty acne. Oily water, streaked with rainbows, lapped at the feet of a dozen ships, all silent and dead for the night.

At quay one six three, the 'Moonwalker' tugged gently at its moorings as it was pulled by the waves. The ship's emblem, originally inspired from a betting chip from a certain LA casino, watched over the docks with sinister intent. A long ramp led from the concrete of the dock to the wooden side of the ship. At the top of the ramp stood a lone figure with a clipboard. For all the world, he looked like a senior sailor overseeing anything that went on or off the ship. But the man was concealing a switchblade and an extremely large nine round pistol under his jacket.

It had been a dull evening for the sentry and no one should have been coming on or off the ship at that time. So, the man took quite a bit of interest when he realised that someone was climbing up the ramp.

At first he thought it might just be one of his own men coming back from unauthorised shore leave, but as the figure came into the light cast from the dim bulbs on the ship, he realised the man was a dockhand, with the usual oversized coat to protect from the night chill and a flat cap scrunched on his head. The unknown individual was carrying a large box in his massive arms, and the obvious weight of it didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. The guard readied his switchblade in his pocket.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Loadin' up; what d'you think?" the stranger replied as he stepped onto the ship and turned to face the guard.

"Nothin's to be loaded at this time," the guard tried angling his head to get a look at the newcomer's face, but the crate blocked his view.

"Look, do you want this or not?"

"Well what is it?"

Without warning, the dockhand dropped the crate straight onto the guard's foot. He yelled in pain, pulling his stinging toes frantically from under the load.

"It's heavy, pal," said the dockhand idly. The sentry glared at the labourer in outrage, only to find his vision flooded with an extremely large fist.

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Gumshoe took the bad guy out, and then guffawed quietly to himself. By the standards of his usual jokes, that one had been pretty good. The cop quickly searched the downed man and threw his weapons over the side into the water. He also took a moment to proudly regard the green trench coat that had fooled the gangster. It was the same coat his dad had worn whenever he was at work, and was pretty much the only heirloom Gumshoe had from his parents. He'd kept it for so many years, but never thought he'd grow enough to fill it (to be honest it was still a little baggy).

The hat had been a good touch, he mused. He just hoped he could get it, and the crate, back to where he found them before the owner found out they were gone.

Gumshoe tossed the flat cap aside and made his way to the stern. It was past eight o'clock, and in the time he'd spent watching the ship only one window had a light coming from it. If Tremaine was on board and in a meeting with the ship's captain, that was a good place to start.

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"Well that's just stupid."

Gumshoe blinked a few times as he tried to return to the present, having forgotten that he had an audience.

"What's stupid?" Nick and Maya asked simultaneously, while Gumshoe struggled to comprehend the criticism to his glorious story.

"You knew the ship had mob connections," Edgeworth glowered at his long suffering subordinate. "You must have known they'd have armed guards. You should have called the police and told them everything you knew. When they'd heard a story like that they'd have sent a squad car to the docks, if only because they thought you were drunk or insane. As soon as they'd found you in front of a known suspect boat with an armed man guarding the way on board they'd begin a proper investigation. Your method hinged solely on you getting hard evidence and escaping without getting killed."

The detective gawked at Edgeworth as the logic ran through his head.

"I… didn't think of that," he confessed in embarrassment.

"This _was_ a story about what a good police officer you were, right?"

"Stop being so mean to him, Mister Edgeworth," Maya said, saving Gumshoe from his dismay.

"Exactly; thanks, pal."

"I mean, he tried his best, so it doesn't matter if he really messed up, right?"

"Yeah, that's- what? Wait, I didn't mess it up," Gumshoe stood up and waved his hands irritably. "Why d'you all think that I must have messed up? So I made some mistakes; it happens right?"

"We're running out of visiting time, Gumshoe," Nick advised. "Shall we get on with this?"

"Oh yeah. 'K, pal," Gumshoe sat back down. "Don't worry, 'cus I'm near the end,"

"Thank God," mumbled Edgeworth.


	7. Chapter 7

Under arrest, pal!

Gumshoe stole down to the blunt end of the ship, frigid night air biting his face and hands. He passed two doors but paid them no mind. His target was the room he suspected to be the captain's office.

Making no noise except for the slight slither of his long green coat on the deck, Gumshoe moved at a crouch to the door of the lit room. Fortunately the door had been left ajar, or perhaps it was in such disrepair that it didn't shut properly. He could hear voices inside, so he angled his head into the gap as much as he dared and looked in.

The office was just as shabby and ramshackle as the rest of the ship, but was equipped with luxuries such as bottles of whiskey, a box of cigars and an expensive looking computer on the desk. Behind the desk, highlighted by the ghostly blue of the computer monitor, sat a chubby man in sweaty, worn out clothing. His eyes were sunken and squinted, and the cigar in his mouth left his head encircled by a halo of smoke. On the other side of the desk sat a man who was silhouetted instead by the weak lamplight. His back was to the door, but Gumshoe recognised him immediately- Captain Alec Tremaine.

"I don't know, Tremaine," the fatter man said coolly. "After the trouble you had getting that file, I've got to wonder if it's the real deal."

"Of course it is," Tremaine didn't rise to the bait. "I checked it with what I already know about those agents. This file is genuine."

"Still, the Deputy Chief moved it to his own house for safekeeping, and your supposedly incompetent accomplice managed to track you to your safe house, I've been thinking that maybe this file is hot. You've checked it for trackers, righ-"

"Don't mess me around. I'll hand you this file for the agreed price or not at all."

The 'business meeting' looked like it was going to go on. Gumshoe backed away from the door carefully and reached into his coat. If he could record just a slice of their conversation, he'd have the proof that would bring the law running. He just hoped he could remember how to use the video function on his cell phone; he cursed himself as he thought of the video camera left in his car.

Gumshoe raised his phone to eye level and began testing its functions. Thankfully his experimentations didn't cause any noise to come from the phone, because it hadn't once occurred to him to mute it. Suddenly, Gumshoe was distracted by something in the corner of his vision- a movement. He looked towards it and realised that there was a moving reflection in the mirror on the corner of his mobile. Not thinking much of it, he turned to see what the movement was. He was presented with the image of the sentry he'd knocked out baring down upon him with a hatchet.

Gumshoe reacted like lightning. There was neither fear nor excitement, only action. His brain went numb of thought and emotion, and his body took over completely.

The cop let the cell phone fall. He spun round and cleared the foot and a half gap between him and his assailant in a heartbeat. With one slap, the axe went flying. The guard made to yell for help, but Gumshoe crushed the lower half of the man's face in his massive palm, covering the mouth and nose before he could call out. The villain flailed in panic, but was nowhere near strong enough to fight off the large police officer. Gumshoe calmed down slightly and looked back at the office. There was no reaction; apparently he hadn't been heard. He looked back at the smothered criminal he held. He was mumbling urgently, punching at the constricting arms as hard as he could.

Gumshoe whacked the man on the temple, knocking him out again. Rather than let him drop to the floor, he dragged the limp form back to one of the doors he'd passed. He pushed open the door, finding that it led into a room with a radio set. As he set down his victim, he eyed a certain dial which gave him an idea. Gumshoe sat next to the radio and messed around with the switches until it turned on. He put his mouth close the transmitter, and reached out for the dial that had grabbed his attention- the one marked 'Distress Frequency'.

"Mayday! Mayday!" Gumshoe tried to sound as urgent as possible while whispering. "This is 'Moonwalker' at quay one six three. Our ship is being hijacked by armed criminals. Please send police support, over."

He waited impatiently for a reply. The receiver burned with static. If it didn't work he'd be back to square one; trying to find a way to convince the police to come down and investigate the ship on his word alone. He worried at the curling wire of the radio transmitter with his sausage sized fingers, until at last-

"**This is the harbourmaster's office; we're receiving you. Report of criminal activity aboard your ship. Confirm?"**

"Confirmed. Several criminals, armed and dangerous. Please send for the police."

Gumshoe dropped the transmitter and smiled to himself. The police would have to come now, and they'd only need one look at the armed guards to know something was wrong. Gumshoe made his way out of the radio room, intending to try and tackle Tremaine and the ship's captain so he could get the file on the special agents before they hid it or something.

He came out onto the deck, but suddenly the door to his left sprang open. Gumshoe turned to look, and found himself confronted by eight huge sailors piling out of the door, arms like bars, chests like barrels, and teeth like fangs. Gumshoe brought up his fists and prepared himself to fight for his very life as the bloodthirsty mob moved to-

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"Wait a moment!" Edgeworth protested.

"What's up, pal?" Gumshoe stopped his tale, exasperated at yet another interruption.

"_Eight_ sailors?"

Gumshoe paused, then took a moment to think about it.

"Well, five," he eventually admitted

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-but suddenly the door to his left sprang open. Gumshoe turned to look, and found himself confronted by five huge sailors piling out of the door, arms like bars, chests like barrels, and teeth like-

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"Hold it!" Nick suddenly exclaimed. "_Five_? Through a single doorway?"

Gumshoe looked guiltily at his audience and said "Well, one actually."

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-but suddenly the door to his left sprang open. Gumshoe turned to look, and found himself confronted by a huge sail-

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"Huge?" Maya ventured cautiously.

Gumshoe looked down ashamedly.

"He was four feet tall; I didn't see him comin'"

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Gumshoe crept out of the radio room, eyes pointed in the direction of the office. Unfortunately, his gaze was so focused that he didn't notice the extremely short sailor sneaking up on his left. By the time the police officer realised anyone was there, a glass bottle found its way into his jaw.

Gumshoe fell to the deck as beer scented shards tinkled around his head. The man who'd hit him with the bottle started calling for help, but it was all muffled in Gumshoe's ears. He shook his head, but by the time it cleared he was being hauled to his feet but some burley figures.

"My God," someone said amusedly. Gumshoe looked up at the voice to see Tremaine standing before him, along with his cigar smoking mobster partner.

"I've got to hand it to you, Dick Gumshoe. How did you manage to track me this far?"

Gumshoe roared and threw himself at the traitorous man, but only succeeded in provoking the brutes that held him into beating round the head. Gumshoe quickly gave up under the onslaught, falling still and silent.

"Not talking? Suits me fine," Tremaine balled his fist.

"Wait a moment!" the gangster captain said. "If this is the cop you got to steal the file, how do we know there aren't more of them nearby?"

"This man is nothing but a grunt. If the police were planning an operation against us, he wouldn't be here."

"You've screwed up enough times already. Call one of your people at the precinct and check it out."

Tremaine shot an icy look at the captain, but lowered his fist. Gumshoe couldn't help breath a sigh of relief.

Suddenly Tremaine's hand shot out. Gumshoe braced his stomach muscles several seconds too late, but Tremaine wasn't punching- he was searching the pockets of the policeman's trench coat.

As he retrieved a set of keys, he said to someone "Go out and find his car, and bring it here. Once I'm done questioning him you can take him away and kill him," he tossed the keys to someone, then added to Gumshoe "It's the traditional execution style for these guys- dead in charge of a vehicle."

Gumshoe struggled against the arms that held him in a sudden bout of fear. Again, all he got for his trouble was some randomly placed punches.

"Tie him up in a storeroom for now," ordered the captain. "Tremaine, call your people now!"

The two leaders began heading back to the officer. The pair of sailors holding Gumshoe began dragging him away, taking him inside the ship.

'_What am I gonna do?'_ Gumshoe asked of himself. Outnumbered, unarmed, and captured again, things were looking pretty bleak for Gumshoe. At that point the only hope he had was for a miracle to take place.

Back at his own apartment, however, things were starting to happen.

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"Despite the fact that the man is a known killer, that is no excuse for holding him prisoner at gunpoint while injured," Lieutenant Wong stated calmly to the white haired girl.

"He was going to kill me and my Gummy-bear!" Connie wailed. "We had to tie him up to keep us safe!"

"Yet there are no signs of a struggle, and no evidence that Officer Gumshoe was here tonight. You ask me to believe you fought with and overpowered this killer single handed, after he'd arrived with the intent to kill you, without making a mess?"

"He _was_ trying to kill us! Dick knocked him out in the car, not in here!"

Of course, Lieutenant Wong knew that Connie must have been holding the gangster in an act of self-defence. The gun she'd been using clearly wasn't hers; it was far too big for her tiny hands, and was the type of weapon favoured by the same thug who was now on his way to hospital with a police escort. Still, he wasn't going to tell the girl that- not till he got the full story of how her boyfriend was linked to the stolen files he was searching for.

"You've got to believe me," said Connie, getting ready to burst into tears. "Dick would never hurt a fly. He hasn't done anything wrong."

"This afternoon we arrested a known safebreaker who Officer Gumshoe had allowed to go free after arresting him for being in possession of stolen property. When we picked him up, we found a diamond necklace that had been stolen from the same safe from which important police documents were taken last night. The safebreaker then named your partner as the man who put him up to the job. You must understand, Miss Cook, there are more than your careers at stake here."

"Dick didn't mean to steal that stuff- he was ordered to! The man told him it was to help keep them safe!"

"And what man would this be?"

"I… I looked up his car number in the police records-"

"Inappropriate use of police resources. Yes, I was going to ask you about that too," to be honest, the lieutenant didn't like being such a bully, but he knew that something big was going on, and he had to know the truth. He allowed Connie to snivel in despair for a moment before she continued.

"The man who made him do it was someone called Alec Tremaine. He lives-"

"Alec Tremaine?" Wong's ears perked up. "You mean Captain Alec Tremaine of the Counter Terrorism Unit, currently being investigated on suspicion of acts of police corruption?" the investigator felt excitement building within him, but didn't let on. "That's a remarkably convenient coincidence; you'll have to do better than that."

Wong barely listened as Connie desperately tried to prove her and Gumshoe's innocence.

Captain Tremaine- now that just fit too well to be mere coincidence.

"Even if I am to believe that Officer Gumshoe managed to record his car registration on a video camera," he said after hearing the next part of Connie's story "if it was the captain of the CTU, the car would be registered to one of their city safe houses, not a home address."

"But Gummy went there and got attacked!" Connie's pitiful plea was enough to make the stoniest of hearts bleed. "And he worked out where Captain Tremaine's gone; he was going to a ship called 'Moonwalker' at the docks, quay one six three!"

That was it.

Hiding his glee, Wong reached for his cell phone and said "Well Miss Cook, I'll investigate your claims and see if there's any truth in what you say. For now, I must ask you to remain here with the officers I'll be leaving; I may need to speak to you later."

Without another word, the lieutenant exited the apartment. He was so close; he had the whole plot laid bare before him. The only thing that wasn't clear was where Dick Gumshoe fitted into the puzzle. Could someone really be stupid enough that they could be tricked into breaking into a house and stealing important police documents? It seemed bizarre, but the alternative was that Gumshoe had been working for the gangs all along, and considering what he'd read in the man's records, most gangs would probably pay _not_ to have anything to do with the bumbling officer.

As soon as he was out of earshot of the apartment, Lieutenant Wong called one of his subordinates at the precinct.

"Prep SWAT teams for raids on the ship 'Moonwalker' and the CTU's downtown safe house. The details are already down in our suspect records. Also, find Captain Tremaine, and have that safe house and the ship watched. I'm going to call the prosecutor's office now and get authorisation to go ahead, but if anything happens at either location that provokes police intervention, begin the raids immediately."

Wong hung up and headed to his car with his entourage of police personnel. He only had time to start the engine before he received a return call from his sergeant.

The 'Moonwalker' had reported a hijack attempt and had specifically requested police assistance- the sergeant just wanted to clarify if that was an acceptable reason to deploy their SWAT team immediately.

Wong assured him that it was.

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Back to the present, Gumshoe paused in his story and looked eagerly at his audience.

Edgeworth looked as though he was so bored he didn't know whether to scream, cry or fall asleep.

Maya had parked herself in a chair on Edgeworth's right and was trembling with anticipation.

Nick was leaning against the wall on Edgeworth's left, wearing that irritatingly bland smile that gave Gumshoe the inexplicable urge to hit the ex-attorney.

"Well, pals; we're getting to the grand finale. What do you think?"

Maya and Edgeworth didn't verbally reply; they gave a thumbs up and a pair of rolling eyes respectively. Phoenix on the other hand-

"No need to finish, Gumshoe. I already see how this is going to end."

"You do, pal?" Gumshoe queried.

"Yeah, isn't it obvious?"

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Suddenly a great bugle call sounded across the docks. Gumshoe looked up from wallowing in despair and saw mounted soldiers charging over the horizon, swords drawn, muskets loaded, and clad in the royal blue of the federal union.

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"The Calvary arrived and saved the day," Nick explained.

Maya pouted at the poor joke, but couldn't stop the corners of her mouth twitching at Gumshoe's expense. After all his groaning and griping about the story, Edgeworth finally managed an extremely dignified, sarcastic laugh. Gumshoe was not happy.

"_No_, actually," he growled at scornful audience. "They took a while to get there, and I was stuck the whole time in a storeroom, thinking that they were gonna kill me."

Maya managed to become a little more sombre at that. She shot a look at Nick and Edgeworth that made them stop laughing.

"Okay Mister Dick, how did you get out of there?" she asked with rekindled enthusiasm.

"Well, that was the easy bit," the cop grinned smugly, pleased that they were back on topic.

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Only his wrists had been tied, but the knots were good. Gumshoe was feeling weak from having been beaten up again, and by the feel of it there was a broken piece of glass digging into the lower part of his cheek. Despite all this, he didn't allow himself to give up. Gumshoe grunted as he heaved at the course rope that had been wrapped round his hands and a pipe protruding from the wall. He'd spent the last five minutes trying to free his hands from where they were trapped behind his back but had made no progress, and it was only a matter of time before his captors found his car and left him in it as a bloody mess.

Gumshoe stopped struggling for a moment and took deep breaths to calm himself down. Now was not the time to start panicking, despite the perfectly panic-worthy circumstances he was in. He'd called the police; he only needed to wait long enough for them to arrive. And as he'd told himself before, there were more important things at stake than just what happened to him. He had to make sure the special agent file didn't escape from the ship- it would mean countless lives would be lost, and criminal syndicates would be acting unchecked for years before any other attempt to infiltrate them could be made. Even though he'd been suspended, Gumshoe still remembered the vows he'd taken when he joined the police force; his duty came before his own safety.

Then of course there was Alec Tremaine.

Gumshoe belly knotted with anger. That traitor couldn't be allowed to get away with what he'd done. He had to be taken and put on trial; exposed as the lying backstabber he was. If he managed to get away there'd be nothing to stop him doing something like this all over again. After everything that had happened, Gumshoe knew he couldn't just sit around waiting for the cops to bail him out. _He_ had to stop Tremaine, in return for his deception and to prove his loyalty to the law.

With even greater determination than before, Gumshoe set his mind and body to the task of escape. He pulled again at the cord and thought back to anything that could give him an idea. His mind settled on Connie for a moment. Those small fingers and long nails of hers would be good for working the knots loose. But she wasn't there, and Gumshoe's fingers were nothing like hers; at school, he'd been given the nickname 'Sausage-fingers' (among others).

His thoughts turned to Sergeant Bones. She could probably have burnt her way through the rope with her cigar lighter. But Gumshoe didn't smoke, so that idea was out of the window (sorry; porthole).

Then Gumshoe's thoughts turned to Special Police Agent Hank Bosh.

Of course! The razor blade in his watch! The trick he'd learnt from his TV hero after seeing him escape from the Jumpy Judge's lair with it.

Gumshoe was smiling broadly as he moved his hands to reach his watch. Now he could finally justify breaking his own watch to fit a razor blade inside.

After painfully cutting his finger, Gumshoe had managed to open the face of his watch and retrieve the tiny blade. He pressed it against his binds as hard as he could and worked it up and down. The cord started giving way almost instantly. Within moments, he'd be free.

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The guard at the ramp had been replaced. The new guy watched diligently after the fuss with the boarder. Still, there was no reason to be afraid. The crew of the gangster owned ship had gone through the procedures of what to do if cops came snooping. If one or even two more guys were to show up, it'd be no problem.

When a single squad car showed up on the quayside, the sentry wasn't too concerned. Most likely the guy they'd sent out to find their prisoner's car had been busted and they'd brought him to question the captain before hauling the guy off for GTA. Dealing with the cops and springing their friend would be no problem.

Then the sentry's eyes widened as a van with 'SWAT' stamped on the side showed up with a further trio of squad cars. All the vehicles zoomed into the dock and skidded to a halt in front of the stationary boat.

"What… the… HELL? !" the mobster choked as he watched the van disgorged its compliment of tactical troopers, all armed to the teeth and raring to go. An entire arsenal was caught in the light from the ship- sniper rifles, two bullet shields, a door breaching shotgun and armfuls of submachine guns. The thug who'd spent most of his life killing unarmed people with knives or clubs felt his knees start to tremble as the heavy armed police force quickly organised themselves.

"You on the deck- hands in the air!" called an officer from a squad car.

Panicking, the criminal pulled out his colt python and fired.

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The gunshot made Gumshoe pause in his work. He looked around, startled, as though the gunner might be in the room with him. Then he heard shouts and more gunshots, then the familiar sound of someone shouting through a police megaphone. Gumshoe realised the police must have arrived to take control of the ship. He tried to keep calm in spite of the sounds of battle taking place outside- he had to get out and make sure Tremaine didn't escape, or at least make sure the confidential details didn't get away with him.

Gumshoe had already managed to untie himself- now he was getting the door open. The lock was a huge, chunky, old fashioned lock that was contained in a metal box on the inside of the door. Gumshoe may not have had any skill in lock picking, but with some difficulty he found that he could use his razor blade to unscrew the lock from the door itself. Gumshoe had spent his time labouring at the screws while smiling broadly at his own cleverness.

Now, with a battle raging outside, things had changed.

Gumshoe pulled frantically at the screw he was working on, forcing it out. The lock was still in place, but was far looser than before. Gumshoe climbed up from his knees and braced himself to force the door open.

Footsteps ran past the door as he took hold of the door knob. Gumshoe paid them no mind. He tensed his entire body, then threw all his weight back and yanked at the handle as hard as he could. The lock broke off in his hand, and Gumshoe tumbled over with the vandalised mechanism still in his grasp.

The officer disposed of the broken mechanism and got back up. The door was swinging gently open, inviting the prisoner to leave, which he did gladly. He turned left out of the door, remembering his way back to the outside from when he'd be dragged to the storeroom. Tremaine was bound to be still in the captain's office, so that was where Gumshoe intended to corner him.

The hall was dark. As he came to the doorway leading outside, Gumshoe could see a man silhouetted by the light from outside, his jerky movements corresponding with the rumble of automatic fire; the man was using the door frame as cover as he fired a folding stock machine gun in the direction of the boarding ramp. With all the noise he was making with his random fire, he couldn't hear Gumshoe coming up behind him.

He _really_ did hate guns.

Gumshoe sneaked up behind the gunner as quickly and quietly as possible, then with one heave of his powerful arms, Gumshoe grabbed the mobster and flipped him over the boat rail and into the water. The weapon fire was replaced with angry yelling and sloshing from below.

From where he now stood, Gumshoe could see a SWAT team cautiously boarding the ship, a pair of troops with pistols and armoured shields leading the way. One balaclava clad face turned in his direction and raised an SMG, calling for him to surrender. Gumshoe quickly slipped in the opposite direction, disappearing from the line of fire round the natural curve of boat. There'd be time to settle things with his superiors later.

As Gumshoe made his way to the captain's office, he ran into another sailor. This one he recognised as the man who'd struck him with the bottle, leaving a widget of glass that was now stuck under the skin of his cheek. Angrily recalling the incident, he advanced on the man.

The pintsized sailor saw the encroaching danger and tried to bring up some type of rifle to defend himself. Gumshoe snatched the firearm from his grasp before he'd even aimed in the cop's direction. With slow deliberateness, Gumshoe held each end of the long, thin barrel in his shovel sized paws. He brought the weapon down hard, bringing up his knee to meet it, and bent the instrument of death out of shape. Then, with careless movement, he tossed the ruined gun into the water and grabbed the sailor by the collar of his shirt. The sailor took on the appearance of a toad as his lips stretched back and his eyes bulged, fearfully meeting the dark eyes of the man who was practically lifting him off the deck.

"You gotta lot to answer for, pal," Gumshoe growled. "I'm thinkin' that I owe you, _big time_."

The sailor cringed, bracing self for the worst. However, Gumshoe merely stepped aside and tossed the man onto the deck in the direction he'd just come from.

"But I got more important things to do, so I'm givin' you a chance to turn yourself in to the SWAT team. Think you can do that without screwin' up, pal?"

The small sailor nodded urgently and scrambled across the deck to escape the wrathful police officer. As soon as he was gone, Gumshoe took a moment to rub his knee painfully.

'_It looked so easy when Hank Bosh did it.'_

The officer moved on, coming to the captain's office. He entered without thought, but found the room empty except for the ship's captain, who was lying unconscious in his swivel chair. From the bloody bruise on his temple, it seemed that Alec Tremaine had a violent temper.

Leaving the office, Gumshoe quickly travelled to the end of the deck and round the stern of the ship. He had a hunch that Tremaine must have already thought of, or even pre prepared an escape plan, relying on the confrontation between the police and the crew of the 'Moonwalker' to cover his retreat. As he came round onto the opposite side of the ship, Gumshoe saw he'd been correct. A tall, thin figure was lowering a lifeboat into the water with an electric winch.

At the sight of the traitorous coward standing there with nothing between them, all of Gumshoe's negative emotions in regard to the man spilled out of his heart- the humiliation at having been deceived, the shame at putting fellow officers at risk by stealing those files, the doubt he felt now he knew that a crooked cop was a very real thing instead of something from the world of fiction, and the hate for that very same crooked cop who now stood before him.

What little common sense Gumshoe possessed was quickly swamped out. Insane fury ignited his blood and made him see red. With an animalistic bellow he charged, arms outstretched, towards Alec Tremaine.

The traitor snapped his head to look at the charging cop. He seemed to freeze at the image of a hulking, thick limbed man thundering toward him intent on murder. Gumshoe came to critical distance with Tremaine, no battle plan in mind, looking only to destroy the man before he could get away. However, Tremaine was more ready than he allowed himself to appear. He lashed out with a briefcase that had been hidden on the opposite side of his body. The blow was targeted at the head, but it fortunately caught the corner of Gumshoe's shoulder. Though not stunned, he was knocked out of his battle frenzy as the weight of the impact made him fall to his knees.

Gumshoe looked up at his enemy who now had the height advantage. The briefcase hammered down again, but Gumshoe caught it with both hands. He stood up and twisted the case, breaking Tremaine's grip on it enough that Gumshoe was able to yank it away from him and into the air out of reach. The loss of his improvised weapon didn't steal Tremaine's momentum. He placed a well-aimed kick at the very side of Gumshoe's left knee. Gumshoe's legs nearly folded underneath him. He dropped the briefcase back over his head, nearly tripping over it. Tremaine advanced, raising his hands in the stance of a complex style of martial arts. Gumshoe raised his fists in a boxing style.

Tremaine's first blow came so fast that Gumshoe didn't even have the chance to block it before it hit him in the stomach. It was the same for the second blow that caught Gumshoe's face as he doubled up.

Gumshoe backed away to recover from the assault, but Tremaine came right after him, throwing a kick and another pair of punches. Gumshoe managed to block the third strike with his arm, but the other two had left him reeling. Quite clearly he was overmatched. He moved away, watching for when Tremaine would come at him again, but the traitor instead picked up his briefcase and made a break for his lifeboat.

Gumshoe dashed after him, determined to stop him before the case was tossed overboard. That briefcase was bound to have all the evidence needed to prove what had been going on aboard the 'Moonwalker'. He could afford to let it leave the ship.

Tremaine swung the case at Gumshoe again, but the police officer was thinking carefully this time. He ducked and seized Tremaine's wrist. The turncoat kicked out. Gumshoe deflected it with an elbow block. He then stood up and slammed the offending arm in his grasp down onto his knee. Unlike the rifle barrel, the arm didn't break, but the briefcase slipped from Tremaine's grasp. Gumshoe took it and hurled it across the deck towards the stern. Tremaine glared furiously at Gumshoe, baring his teeth. He was really determined not to leave the case behind. So, all Gumshoe needed to do was keep it away from him until help arrived. Easy, right?

"I should have killed you when you got me that file," spat Tremaine.

"You're not gonna get away with this, pal. Just give it up" Gumshoe said in return.

Tremaine flew at Gumshoe, fist outstretched. Gumshoe ducked below the attack and punched Tremaine squarely in the ribs. Tremaine faltered and tried back off, but Gumshoe held him in place by the shoulder and punched again. The blow was hard and sunk deep into the pit of Tremaine's stomach, but the man didn't go down. He hit the inside of Gumshoe's elbow to break the hold on his arm, then hoisted himself up with each of his hands of the deck rail and ship wall respectively, using both feet to kick Gumshoe away.

Gumshoe lurched away from his attacker, head swimming, mouth full of the taste of a rubber soled shoe. He reasserted his grip on reality as he noticed Tremaine stalking towards him like his own personal Grim Reaper.

For once, Gumshoe regretted following his father's words so closely. The 'ol' one-two' wasn't working the way it did against most people, and despite years of exercising and training to fight barehanded, he could really do with a weapon. The briefcase was nearby, but he didn't want to intentionally bring it within Tremaine's reach again. He looked about and came across a handy fire extinguisher hanging from the wall. Gumshoe pulled the canister free and swung it wildly.

Tremaine easily dodged the red cylinder and darted forward to hit Gumshoe in the face. He leapt back again to avoid the second swing. Gumshoe tried shoving with the extinguisher. Tremaine just pushed the jab aside and hit Gumshoe's jaw again.

Gumshoe was staggering now. He took a moment to spit a glob of blood and possibly some tooth chippings over the side of the boat. A small part of his mind angrily asked where the hell the police were, but most of his concentration was on the fight. Not even months of watching Hank Bosh as a child would help him now, he decided. Brute force and righteous anger would not save him; it was going to take some brain power to overcome the traitor, and since it seemed no one else would be coming anytime soon, Gumshoe would have to think up a solution all on his own.

He closed his eyes in dread.

Tremaine advanced again. Gumshoe brandished the extinguisher as threateningly as he could, looking for any sort of weakness in his rival's defence. Tremaine came dangerously close, apparently doing the same thing if the intense look in his eyes was anything to go by. He flexed his hands and tensed his muscles, preparing to go in for the kill.

Tremaine lunged forward. Gumshoe, despite his injuries, stood his ground. Seized by a timely grip of inspiration, the policeman pulled the extinguisher handle and engulfed his enemy in a jet of mist. Though blinded, Tremaine didn't let the distraction get to him. He stepped out of the mist, keeping his hands high to protect his head from attack.

Gumshoe saw his opportunity as Tremaine brought himself within attack range without going on the offensive. He threw the extinguisher at Tremaine's feet to try and distract him some more, then punched both his fists forward simultaneously. Tremaine easily avoided the extinguisher and knocked Gumshoe's fists aside, a short barking laugh mocking Gumshoe's careless efforts.

But it was a ruse.

The moment Tremaine's hands were occupied with pushing Gumshoe's aside, the police officer swung his whole body down as though bowing. His forehead arched down and mashed itself into Tremaine's nose. A wonderfully satisfying 'CRACK' ripped the air.

Tremaine gave a strangled cry as he clapped his hands to his face to stanch the facets of blood his nostrils had become. Gumshoe used the distraction to get close to the traitor and scoop him up in a huge bear hug. Tremaine grunted something, but Gumshoe didn't pay attention; instead he tightened his grip and tried to crush his prey, while the man punched his arms and face in an attempt to get free. The cop squeezed his arms around Tremaine's abdomen as hard as he could. There was a popping sound from Tremaine's spine, followed by an embarrassing yelp. Gumshoe did his best to keep his enemy held aloft and docile, but lacked the knowledge or experience to cause Tremaine any real harm.

Gumshoe felt something pound into the back of his head. The force of it had stars bursting before him. He teetered about, but didn't fall, clinging on like a bulldog with a bone. Then Tremaine hit him with a second karate chop to the back of the head. Gumshoe's entire world rocked. He dropped Tremaine and fell back, clutching his head.

Even through the pain and hazy vision, Gumshoe was able to see Tremaine as he hefted the fire extinguisher in his hands and approached the fallen officer. Gumshoe tried to get up again, but found that his injuries and the effort he'd put into the battle had fatigued him so much that his limbs would barely respond. He wondered for a moment why things like this had never been made clear to him- after fighting, Hank Bosh had never looked so much as tired, unless he'd been battling one of his archenemies. As for Gumshoe's own father, he'd only ever said that punks ought to be given a good beating, but after coming home from having been in a fight for whatever reason, he'd never appeared as exhausted as Gumshoe felt at that moment. Perhaps, he thought, he was doing something wrong. Maybe he should look into joining some sort of martial arts club, but the way his salary was at the moment, that wasn't a very promising plan.

Tremaine loomed overhead, wielding the extinguisher like a cudgel. Gumshoe reached above his head and fumbled for the briefcase. Tremaine swung his weapon in a move that would have shattered Gumshoe's ribcage had he not pulled the thick black case into the path of the extinguisher. Tremaine lifted the fire dousing tool and swung at Gumshoe's head. The blow was shielded with another dull thud against the briefcase.

Tremaine then lowered the fire extinguisher and held it in one hand as he made a grab for the briefcase. Gumshoe clutched the container close to him and aimed a kick right into Tremaine's crotch. The impact was accompanied by a metallic clang. Tremaine moved back, unhurt but surprised, while Gumshoe looked up at him in confusion. Then Tremaine shot him a crafty grin.

"Trick of the trade, Gumshoe," he explained. "Never be without a cup when you're going into a potentially volatile situation. Don't suppose you have one, do you?"

With that, Tremaine brought his fire extinguisher down again, this time towards the policeman's groin. Gumshoe jerked with horror fuelled reaction, only just blocking the strike with the case again. Tremaine then swung the weapon sideways, clipping the edge of the case and knocking it out the way, before moving to smash the extinguisher down while the makeshift shield was gone. Gumshoe raised a hand to try and catch the incoming blow, bracing himself in case it connected with him.

Suddenly, the sound of a single gunshot intruded violently upon the scene. Gumshoe saw a thin streak of fire whizz over his head and vanish into Tremaine's body. The bullet's momentum hurled the traitor to the ground, inducing a tirade of swear words and unintelligible roars from the man.

From where he lay, Gumshoe turned his head upwards so that he could look back down the deck. Despite looking at the world upside down, he saw a SWAT team member with a submachine gun rushing towards him, backed up by another two upside troopers with equally heavy weaponry.

"Armed police! Both of you, freeze!" one of them shouted in a voice slightly muffled by his balaclava. By the sound of it Tremaine was causing a fuss with the trooper who'd moved to guard him, but for his part, Gumshoe was happy to let go of the incriminating briefcase and lift his hands above his head.

As Hank Bosh would have said "The long arm of the law is done reaching out for today."

'_Man,'_ Gumshoe thought. _'That show really was cheesy, wasn't it?'_


	8. Chapter 8

Turnabout Epilogue

"And that was that, pals," Gumshoe dusted off his hands as though he'd actually just finished taking part in the battle on the 'Moonwalker' then and there. He looked at the other people in the room, waiting for their approval.

Nick, Maya and Edgeworth shared a sombre moment, waiting for someone else to give the first reply.

"So is that why you always wear that bandage?" Maya finally asked. "Because of being hit with that bottle?"

"Yeah, that's right," Gumshoe said. "That little chunk of glass in my cheek was filthy. By the time a doctor could get it out the wound was infected and it never properly healed," the detective delicately examined the old wound with his fingers, a look of manly pride on his face.

"And after all that happened, the police just believed your story that you were involved in that case by accident and let you have your job back?" Nick said.

"Well I'll admit, it was lookin' pretty bad for me at one point, pal. But Lieutenant Wong was a good detective. He checked out the stuff on my video camera which showed what happen the night I handed those files to Tremaine, and what happened when that hit man tried to kidnap me. And you remember when I was at that safe house when I broke the roll of film and threw it away? Well, when they searched the place, Tremaine's punks had cleaned up any evidence they had, but that roll of film landed under a desk and was still there when they raided the place. They were recordin' their calls in case they needed to blackmail the people they were dealin' with, but the stuff on that film proved that they'd plan to trick me into stealin' the files, and got a bunch of other guys who were workin' for 'em arrested. Tremaine and the others didn't try to drop me in it by sayin' I was one of them 'cus they were too busy cuttin' deals to shorten their jail time. Of course, I couldn't get any credit because I stole the files in the first place, but if I had, I'd have been a national hero, pal!"

"Truly remarkable," Edgeworth mentioned. "But there's one thing I don't understand- if you didn't get any recognition for what you did, what has this story got to do with how you became a detective?"

"Well it's like this, pal. Even though I didn't get any credit, I still got congratulations from all the head people. Soon after that, Bones was pushing to get me my promotion. She really pulled out all the stops to make it happen."

"I thought you said she hated you?"

"Well she couldn't fire me after all I'd done. I think she wanted me promoted so that I'd leave her department and she'd never have to see me again," Gumshoe said, before chuckling and adding "You should have seen her face the day I was supposed to start my new job but went to my old place by accident."

Edgeworth rubbed at his aching head and said "Well, I'm glad to see it wasn't your 'deductive abilities' that got you promoted. So, the short version of how you became a detective is that you were such a prize idiot that you superiors were desperate to get rid of you by any means necessary?"

Gumshoe opened his mouth to argue, but Edgeworth's point seemed pretty incontestable. He took a moment to think about what to say, and then gave up, allowing his face to fall from annoyed to glum.

"Don't be too hard on him Mister Edgeworth," Maya exclaimed. "It was still a pretty good story."

"Yes, amazing," Edgeworth lied openly. Why had he ever asked for visitors? Compared to Gumshoe's ridiculous tale, lonely boredom was a welcome distraction.

"So what happened to Connie after all this?" Maya asked.

"Well, soon after the Moonwalker case she went to Comic-Con and met some cosplay nut who she eventually dumped me for. I haven't seen her since," if Gumshoe was at all put off by the memory of his ex leaving him for someone else, he didn't show it. He seemed too distracted by the fact that Maya was the only one showing any real interest in what he was saying.

Edgeworth on the other hand had had enough.

"Well you'd better all get going now," he said. "Visiting hours will be ending soon."

"Already, pal? But I only just finished the story. I didn't get to talk to you."

'_Lucky me,'_ thought Edgeworth. Even his adopted sister would be better company than Gumshoe. He'd take being whipped senseless than listening to stories of Gumshoe's incompetence any day.

"I'm sure you'll get another chance to visit Gumshoe, but I could really do with some rest now."

Soon enough, Edgeworth convinced his now unwelcome guests to leave, each giving their goodbyes with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"See you around, Miles," Phoenix Wright pulled his woolly hat back on and nodded to his old friend.

"Yeah, we'll come back with more fruit and stuff soon," promised Maya brightly.

"Thank you; I'll look forward to it," Edgeworth replied politely.

Gumshoe pulled his dad's old coat on and shuffled towards the door.

"Well, I hope you get better soon, pal," he said. "I… hope you enjoyed the story?"

Edgeworth's only reply was a cold look. Gumshoe expression descended to near miserable.

"Don't worry, Detective Dick. I liked your story!" Maya piped up. "You can tell me more about it while you're giving us a lift home."

"Heh- okay, sure thing," Gumshoe smiled again, then looked back to Edgeworth.

"Okay then, pal. I'll see you later."

'_I hope not,'_ Edgeworth thought, but all he said aloud was "Very well then. Goodbye Gumshoe."

As the others left, Edgeworth allowed himself to bask in the silence. Now he found that the prospect of being alone and doing nothing didn't bother him one bit. A quick visit from what was possibly the most annoying man alive was all it took to change his perspective of things.

For a moment he thought about Gumshoe's story. He supposed it was fairly believable after all, but could Gumshoe really be stupid enough that he could be fooled into breaking into a house? Edgeworth realised that he didn't even need to answer that question.

Still, it was over now. A couple of weeks rest away from the usual insanity of life was just what he needed- no trials, thieves or detectives telling him crazy stories. The rest of his stay was going to be spent in as much solitude as possible, and he wouldn't repeat the mistake of wishing that he had visitors.

Barely an hour later, Edgeworth was calling Dick Gumshoe on his cell phone.

"**Hey pal, Mister Edgeworth. You okay?"** Gumshoe blasted down the phone.

"Fine thank you, Gumshoe," said Edgeworth. "I wanted to ask if you'd be able to get some files that I'd left in my apartment and bring them to me."

"**I thought you said you couldn't read because of your double vision?"**

Edgeworth's reply was a little delayed.

"It's getting better. I really need to read over that stuff, so could you bring it to me, please?"

"**Okay then, pal. You're not feelin' lonely or anythin', are you?"**

"Of course I'm not lonely! Why would I specially want company just because I'm in hospital? !" Edgeworth answered sharply. Perhaps a little too sharply. He berated himself for overreacting needlessly.

"**So, you're not hoping to hear more of my stories to pass the time then?"** Gumshoe said half-jokingly.

"No," Edgeworth said, and it was all he meant to say, but for some reason that he couldn't explain, he couldn't stop himself from adding "although I heard that there's a good one about why you started throwing confetti every time Wright won a trial."

"**Huh? You seriously wanna hear that one? Well that's great; that **_**is**_** a good story."**

"I was being sarcastic, Gumshoe," Edgeworth stated dully, though in his mind his was shouting _'Why did you say that, idiot? !'_

"**Oh right. I get it, pal,"** Gumshoe said in what sounded like a knowing tone (which really didn't suit the officer). **"Well don't worry, pal. I'll be there in about half an hour."**

The detective hung up before the attorney could say anymore. Edgeworth looked down at his mobile irritably. What was Gumshoe so smug about? Did he really think that he, Miles Edgeworth, was both craving the company of semi-incompetent (well, make that completely incompetent) cop, and longing to hear his stories about what made him the lunatic he was today? If Edgeworth wanted friendly company he'd call Nick or Maya or maybe even Ema. Heck, Wendy Oldbag would be better, though he drew the line at calling Larry Butz. No, the only reason he'd called Gumshoe was because he could make him do stuff for him, and he wanted those files from his apartment. He was sure his double vision would clear up soon. And he most definitely was _not_ interested in hearing about the confetti.

X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X X-X

Gumshoe smiled as he tucked his cell phone away.

One thing he'd forgot to mention when he explained how he'd become a detective- one didn't get to be a detective without being able to recognise an obviously lie.

"Don't like my stories, pal?" he said to himself. "That's the biggest contradiction I ever heard. Don't worry Mister Edgeworth- I'll be there soon."

Gumshoe quickly searched through his desk at the precinct, meaning to leave as soon as he'd found some duct tape for the video camera.

The End


End file.
